by G. A. Henty
The sight of the pictures reconciled George to Polly's departure, and seeing the lad was amused and comfortable she started with Luke, Dick taking his place near the bed, where he could also enjoy a look at the pictures.
"Did you notice that pretty girl with the sweet voice in the aisle in a line with us, father," Ned asked that evening, "with a great, strong, quiet-looking man by the side of her?"
"Yes, lad, the sweetness of her singing attracted my attention, and I thought what a bright pretty face it was!"
"That's Mary Powlett and her uncle. You have heard me speak of her as the girl who was so kind in nursing Bill."
"Indeed, Ned! I should scarcely have expected to find
so quiet and tidy looking a girl at Varley, still less to meet her with a male relation in church."
"She lives at Varley, but she can hardly be called a Varley girl," Ned said. "Bill was telling me about her. Her uncle had her brought up down here. She used to go back to sleep at night, but otherwise all her time was spent here. It seems her mother never liked the place, and married away from it, and when she and her husband died and the child came back to live with her uncle he seemed to think he would be best carrying out his dead sister's wishes by having her brought up in a different way to the girls at Varley. He has lost his wife now, and she keeps house for him, and Bill says all the young men in Varley are mad about her, but she won't have anything to say to them."
"She is right enough there," Captain Sankey said smilingly. "They are mostly croppers, and rightly or wrongly—rightly, I am afraid—they have the reputation of being the most drunken and quarrelsome lot in Yorkshire. Do you know the story that is current among the country people here about them?"
"No, father, what is it?"
"Well, they say that no cropper is in the place of punishment. It was crowded with them at one time, but they were so noisy and troublesome that his infernal majesty was driven to his wits' end by their disputes. He offered to let them all go. They refused. So one day he struck upon a plan to get rid of them. Going outside the gates he shouted at the top of his voice, 'Beer, beer, who wants
beer?' every cropper in the place rushed out, and he then slipped in again and shut the gates, and has taken good care ever since never to admit a cropper into his territory."
Ned laughed at the story. "It shows at any rate, father, what people think of them here; but I don't think they are as bad as that, though Bill did say that there are awful fights and rows going on there of an evening, and even down here if there is a row there is sure to be a cropper in it. Still you see there are some good ones; look at Luke Marner, that's the man we saw in church, see how kind he has been to his niece."
"There are good men of all sorts, and though the croppers may be rough and given to drink, we must not blame them too severely; they are wholly uneducated men, they work hard, and their sole pleasure is in the beer-shop. At bottom they are no doubt the same as the rest of their countrymen, and the Yorkshire men, though a hard-headed, are a soft-hearted race; the doctor tells me that except that their constitutions are ruined by habitual drinking he has no better patients; they bear pain unflinchingly, and are patient, and even-tempered. I know he loves them with all their faults, and I consider him to be a good judge of character."
CHAPTER IV.
THE WORMS TURN.
SAY, it's a shame, a beastly shame!" Ned Sankey exclaimed passionately as the boys came out from school one day.
Generally they poured out in a confused mass, eager for the fresh air and anxious to forget in play the remembrance of the painful hours in school; but today they came out slowly and quietly, each with a book in his hand, for they had tasks set them which would occupy every moment till the bell sounded again.
" Every one says they know nothing about the cat. I don't know whether it's true or not, for I am sorry to say some of the fellows will tell lies to escape the cane, but whether it is so or not he's no right to punish us all for what can only be the fault of one or two."
That morning the cat, which was the pet of Mr. Hathorn and his wife, had been found dead near the door of the school-house. It had been most brutally knocked about. One of its eyes had been destroyed, its soft fur was matted with blood, and it had evidently been
beaten to death. That the cat was no favourite with the boys was certain. The door between the school-room and the house was unfastened at night, and the cat, in her pursuit of mice not unfrequently knocked over inkstands, and the ink, penetrating into the desks, stained books and papers, and more than one boy had been caned severely for damage due to the night prowlings of the cat.
Threats of vengeance against her had often been uttered, and when the cat was found dead it was the general opinion in the school that one or other of their comrades had carried out his threats, but no suspicion fell upon anyone in particular. The boys who were most likely to have done such a thing declared their innocence stoutly. Mr. Hathorn had no doubt on the subject. The cane had been going all the morning, and he had told them that extra tasks would be given which would occupy all their playtime until the offender was given up to judgment.
In point of fact the boys were altogether innocent of the deed. Pussy was a noted marauder, and having been caught the evening before in a larder, from which she had more than once stolen tit-bits, she had been attacked by an enraged cook with a broomstick, and blows had been showered upon her until the woman, believing that life was extinct, had thrown her outside into the road; but the cat was not quite dead, and had, after a time, revived sufficiently to drag her way home, only, however, to die.
"I call it a shame!" Ned repeated. "Mind, I say it's a brutal thing- to ill-treat a cat like that. If she did knock down inkstands and get fellows into rows it was not her fault. It's natural cats should run after mice, and the wainscottino- of the school-room swarmed with them. One can hear them chasing each other about and squeaking all day. If I knew any of the fellows had killed the cat I should go straight to Hathorn and tell him.
" You might call it sneaking if you like, but I would do it, for I hate such brutal cruelty. I don't see how it could have been any of the fellows, for they would have had to get out of the bed-room and into it again; besides, I don't see how they could have caught the cat if they did get out; but whether it was one of the fellows or not makes no difference. I say it's injustice to punish ivery one for the fault of one or two fellows.
" I suppose he thinks that in time we shall give up the names of the fellows who did it. As far as I am concerned, it will be just the other way. If I had known who had done it this morning, when he accused us, I should have got up and said so, because I think fellows who treat dumb animals like that are brutes that ought to be punished, but I certainly would not sneak because Hathorn punished me unjustly. I vote we all refuse to do the work he has set us."
This bold proposition was received with blank astonishment.
" But he would thrash us all fearfully," Tompkins said.
(281) E
"He daren't if we only stuck together. Why, he wouldn't have a chance with us if we showed fight. If we were to say to him, ' We won't do these extra tasks, and if you touch one of us the whole lot will pitch into you/ what could he do then?"
"I will tell you what he could do, Sankey," Tom Room, a quiet, sensible boy, replied. " If we were in a desert island it would be all well enough, he could not tyrannize over us then; but here it is different. He would just put on his hat and go into the town, and in ten minutes he would be back again with the six constables, and if that wasn't enough he could get plenty of other men, and where would our fighting be then? We should all get the most tremendous licking we have ever had, and get laughed at besides through the town for a pack of young fools."
Ned broke into a good-tempered laugh.
" Of course you are right, Room. I only thought about Hathorn himself. Still, it is horribly unfair. I will do it to-day. But if he goes on with it, as he threatens, I won't do it, let him do what he likes."
&nbs
p; For some days this state of things continued. There was no longer any sound of shouting and laughter in the playground. The boys walked about moody and sullen, working at their lessons. They were fast becoming desperate. No clue had been obtained as to the destroyer of the cat, and the schoolmaster declared that if it took him months to break their spirits he would do it. Ned Sankey had said nothing at home as to his troubles. His father
noticed that he ran off again as soon as his dinner was over, and that he no longer said anything as to the sports in which he was engaged in playtime; also, that his lessons occupied him from tea-time until he went up to bed.
"Anything is better than this," Ned said one day to some of the boys of his own age. " In my opinion it's better to have a regular row. What Room said was quite true, we shall get the worst of it; but the story will then come out, and it will be seen what a beastly tyranny we have been undergoing. I tell you, I for one will not stand it any longer, so here goes," and he threw his book up into a tree, in whose branches it securely lodged.
His comrades followed his example, and the news that Sankey and some of the other fellows were determined to put up with it no longer soon spread, and in five minutes not a book was to be seen in the playground. The spirit of resistance became strong and general, and when the bell rang the boys walked into the school-room silent and determined, but looking far less moody and downcast than usual. Mr. Hathorn took his seat at his desk.
" The first class will come up and say their tasks."
Not a boy moved in his seat.
" The first class will come up and say their tasks," the master repeated, bringing his cane down with angry emphasis on the desk.
Still no one moved.
"What does this mean?" he shouted, rising from his seat.
" It means, sir," Ned Sankey said, rising also, " that we
are determined, all of us, that we will learn no more extra tasks. None of us, so far as we know, ever touched your cat, and we are not going to submit to be punished any longer for a fault which none of us have committed."
" No, no," rose in a general chorus through the schoolroom, " we will do no more tasks."
Mr. Hathorn stood petrified with astonishment and white with anger.
" So you are at the bottom of this, Sankey. I will make an example of you."
So saying, he took a stride forward towards Ned. In an instant a shower of books flew at him from all parts of the room. Infuriated by the attack, he rushed forward with his cane raised. Ned caught up a heavy inkstand.
" If you touch me," he shouted, " I will fling this at your head."
Mr. Hathorn hesitated. The shower of books had not affected him, but the heavy missile in Ned's hand was a serious weapon. In another moment he sprang forward and brought his cane down with all his force upon Ned's back.
Ned at once hurled the heavy inkstand at him. The schoolmaster sprang on one side, but it struck him on the shoulder, and he staggered back.
" You have broken my shoulder, you young scoundrel!" he exclaimed.
"I shouldn't care if I had broken your head," Ned retorted, white with passion; " it would have served you right if I had killed you, you tyrant."
NED HEADS A REBELLION AGAINST THE TYRANT.
"One of you go and fetch a constable," Mr. Hathorn said to the boys.
"Let him send his servant. He will find me at home. Mr. Hathorn, I am not going to run away, you need not think it. Give me in charge if you dare; I don't care what they do to me, but the whole country shall know what a tyrant you are."
So saying, he collected his books, put his cap on his head, and walked from the school-room, the boys cheering him loudly as he went. On reaching home he went at once to his father's study.
"I am sorry to say, sir, that there has been a row in the school, and Hathorn has threatened to send a constable here after me for throwing an inkstand at him."
"Throwing an inkstand!" Captain Sankey exclaimed. "Is it possible?"
"It is quite possible and quite true; he has been treating us shamefully for the last ten days; he has been always a cruel brute all along, though I never wanted to make a fuss about it, but it has been getting worse and worse. Ten days ago some one killed his cat, and I am almost sure it was none of the boys, but he chose to believe it was, and because he couldn't find out who, he has punished the whole school, and all our play hours have been taken up with lessons ever since, and he said he would keep on so till he found out who did it, if it was months.
"So at last we could not stand it any longer, and we all agreed that we wouldn't do the extra tasks, and that
we would stick together when we told him so. He rushed at me with his cane, and gave me one with all his might, and I threw an inkstand at him, and it caught him on the shoulder, and he says it has broken it, and that he would send for a constable. So I told him to do so if he dared, and here I am."
"This is a very serious business, Ned," his father said gravely. "In the first place, there is something like a rebellion in the school, of which, I suppose, you were one of the leaders or he would not have singled you out. In the second place, you threw a missile at him, which has broken his shoulder, and might have killed him had it struck him on the head. I have warned you, my boy, over and over again against giving way to that passionate temper of yours, and have told you that it would lead you into serious trouble.''"
"I can't help it, sir," Ned said doggedly. "I've put up with a tremendous lot there, and have said nothing about it, because I did not wish to give you trouble; but when it came to downright tyranny like this I would rather be killed than put up with it. I warned him fairly that if he struck me I would throw the inkstand at him, and he brought it on himself."
Captain Sankey seeing that in his son's present state of mind talking would be useless to him, ordered him to remain in his study till his return, and putting on his hat went towards the school. Ned's temper had always been a source of anxiety to him. The boy was, no doubt, of a passionate nature, but had he had the advantage of a
proper supervision and care when he was a child the tendency might have been overcome. Unfortunately this had not been the case. His mother had left the children entirely to the care of ayahs, he himself had been far too occupied with his regimental duties to be able to superintend their training, while Abijah's hands had been too full with the management of the house, which entirely devolved upon her, and with the constant attention demanded by Mrs. Sankey, to give them any close superintendence. Thus like most children born in India and left entirely in the charge of coloured nurses, Ned had acquired the habit of giving way to bursts of ungovernable passion; for the black nurses have no authority over their young charges, unless seconded and supported by the firmness of their mothers. In this case no such support had been forthcoming.
Mrs. Sankey hated being troubled, and the ayahs always found that any complaints to her recoiled upon themselves, for she always took the part of her children, and insisted that the fault lay on the side of the nurses and not on them. The natural result was, that the ayahs ceased to trouble her, and found it easier to allow the children to do as they chose, and to give way quietly to Ned's outbursts of passion.
Captain Sankey knew nothing of all this. Ned was very fond of him, and was always bright and good-tempered when with his father, and it was not until he left India and was thrown more with him that Captain Sankey discovered how grievously Ned's disposition, which was
in other respects a fine one, was marred by the habit which had been encouraged by indulgence and want of control. Then he set to work earnestly to remedy the mischief, but the growth of years is hard to eradicate, and although under the influence of the affection for his father and his own good sense Ned had so far conquered himself that his fits of passion were few and far between, the evil still existed, and might yet, as his father felt, lead to consequences which would mar his whole life.
Thinking the matter sadly over, Captain Sankey was proceeding towards the school when he met one of th
e constables. The man touched his hat and stopped.
"This be a moighty oonpleasant business, Captain," he said; "your boy, he ha' been and battered school maister; and t' doctor says he ha' broke his collar-bone. Oi ha' got to take him afore t' magistrate."
"Very well, Harper," Captain Sankey said quietly; "of course you must do your duty. It is a sad business, and I was on my way to the school to see if the matter could not be arranged; however, as it has been put in your hands it is now too late, and things must take their course; the magistrates are not sitting to-day. I will guarantee that my son shall be present at the sitting on Thursday, I suppose that will be sufficient?"
"Yes, oi supposes if you promises to produce him, that ull do," the constable said. "Oi doan't suppose as nought will come o't; these schoolmaister chaps does thrash t' boys cruel, and oi ain't surprised as t' little chaps roises agin' it soometoimes. T'others all seem moighty glad o' it;
oi heard 'em shouting and cheering in t' yard as if they was all mad."
Captain Sankey shook his head. "I'm afraid the magistrates won't see it in that light, Harper; discipline is discipline. However, we must hope for the best."
The story that there had been a rebellion among the boys at Hathorn's, that the schoolmaster had his shoulder broken, and that Captain Sankey's son was to go before the magistrates, spread rapidly through Marsden, and the court-house was crowded at the sitting of the magistrates on Thursday.
There were two magistrates on the bench, Mr. Thompson the local banker, and Squire Simmonds of Lathorpe Hall, three miles from the town. Several minor cases were first disposed of, and then Ned's name was called. Captain Sankey had been accommodated with a seat near the magistrates, with both of whom he had some personal acquaintance. Ned was sitting by the side of the lawyer whom his father had retained to defend him; he now moved quietly into the dock, while Mr. Hathorn, with his arm in a sling, took his place in the witness-box.