by F. W. Farrar
CHAPTER TWO.
SAINT WINIFRED'S.
Gay Hope is theirs by Fancy led, Less pleasing when possess'd, The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast.
Grey.
Walter's destination was the school of Saint Winifred. Let me here sayat once that if any reader set himself to discover what and where theschool of Saint Winifred is, he will necessarily fail. It isimpossible, I suppose, to describe _any_ school without introducingcircumstances so apparently special as to lead some readers into asupposed identification. But here, and once for all, I distinctly andseriously repudiate all intention of describing any particularfoundation. I am well aware that for some critics this disclaimer willbe insufficient. But every _honourable_ reader and critic may restassured that in describing Saint Winifred's I have not intended todepict any one school, and that no single word dictated by an unworthypersonality will find a place in the following pages.
Saint Winifred's School stands by the seaside, on the shores of a littlebay embraced and closed in by a range of hills whose sweeping semicircleis only terminated on either side by the lofty cliffs which, in someplaces, are fringed at the base by a margin of sand and shingle, and inothers descend with sheer precipices into the ever-boiling surf. Owingto the mountainous nature of the country, the railroad cannot approachwithin a distance of five miles, and to reach the school you must drivethrough the dark groves which cover the lower shoulder of one of thesurrounding mountains. When you reach the summit of this ascent, thebay of Saint Winifred lies before you; that line of white houses aquarter of a mile from the shore is the village, and the largepicturesque building of old grey stone, standing in the angle where thelittle river reaches the sea, is Saint Winifred's School.
The carriage stopped at the grand Norman archway of the court. Theschool porter--the Famulus as they classically called him--afine-looking man, whose honest English face showed an amount of thoughtand refinement above his station, opened the gate, and, consigningWalter's play-box and portmanteau to one of the school servants,directed Mr Evson across the court and along some cloisters to thehouse of Dr Lane, the headmaster. The entering of Walter's name on theschool books was soon accomplished, and he was assigned as private pupilto Mr Robertson, one of the tutors. Dr Lane then spoke a word ofencouragement to the young stranger, and he walked back with his fatheracross the court to the gate, where the carriage was still waiting totake Mr Evson to meet the next train.
"Please let us walk up to the top of the hill, papa," said Walter; "Ishan't be wanted till tea-time, and I needn't bid good-bye to you here."
Mr Evson was as little anxious as Walter to hasten the parting. Theyhad never been separated before. Mr Evson could look back for the rareperiod of thirteen years, during which they had enjoyed, by God'sblessing, an almost uninterrupted happiness. He had begun life againwith his young children; he could thoroughly sympathise alike with theirthoughts and with their thoughtlessness, and by training them in amanner at once wise and firm, he had been spared the greater part ofthat anxiety and disappointment which generally spring from our ownmismanagement. He deeply loved, and was heartily proud of, his eldestboy. There is no exaggeration in saying that Walter had all the bestgifts which a parent could desire. There was something very interestingin his appearance, and very winning in his modest and graceful manners.It was impossible to see him and not be struck with his fine open face,and the look of fearless and noble innocence in his deep blue eyes.
It was no time for moral lectures or formal advice. People seem tothink that a few Polonius-like apophthegms delivered at such a time maybe of great importance. They may be, perhaps, if they be backed-up andenforced by previous years of silent and self-denying example; otherwisethey are like seed sown upon a rock, like thistle-down blown by the windacross the sea. Mr Evson spoke to Walter chiefly about home, aboutwriting letters, about his pocket-money, his amusements, and hisstudies, and Walter knew well beforehand, without any repetitions_then_, what his father wished him to be, and the principles inaccordance with which he had endeavoured to mould his thoughts andactions.
The time passed too quickly for them both; they were soon at the top ofthe hill where the carriage awaited them.
"Good-bye, Walter. God bless you," said Mr Evson, shaking hands forthe last time, and throwing deep meaning into those simple words.
"Good-bye, papa. My best love to all at home," said Walter, trying tospeak cheerfully, and struggling manfully to repress his rising tears.
The carriage drove on. Walter watched it out of sight, and, turninground, felt that a new phase of his life had begun, and that he wasmiserably alone. It was natural that he should shed a few quiet tearsas he thought of the dear friends with whom he had parted, and the fourhundred strangers into whose society he was about to enter. Yet beingbrave and innocent he feared nothing, and, without any very definitereligious consciousness, he had a clear and vivid sense that One Friendwas ever with him.
The emotions of a boy are as transient as they are keen, and Walter'stears were soon dried. As he looked round, the old familiar voice ofthe mountains was in his ears. He gazed with the delight of friendshipon their towering summits, and promised himself, many an exhilaratingclimb up their steep sides. And now, too, for the first time--forhitherto he had not much noticed the scenery around him--a new voice,the great voice of the sea, broke with its grand but awful monotony uponhis listening ear. As he gazed upon the waves, glowing and flashingwith the golden network of autumnal sunbeams, it seemed to dawn upon himlike the discovery of a new sense, and he determined to stroll down tothe beach before re-entering the gates of Saint Winifred.
He wandered there not only with a boy's delight, but with the delight ofa boy whose eyes and ears have always been open to the beauty and wonderof the outer world. He longed to have his brother with him there. Hepicked up handfuls of the hard and sparkling sand; he sent the broadflat pebbles flying over the surface, and skimming through the crests ofthe waves; he half-filled his pockets with green and yellow shells, andcrimson fragments of Delessaria Sanguinea for his little sisters; and hewas full of pleasurable excitement when the great clock of SaintWinifred's, striking five, reminded him that he had better go in, andlearn something, if possible, about the order of his future life.