George Meredith
The Adventures of Harry Richmond. Complete
Aunt Dorothy looked at me. ‘Come now,’ she said; ‘come with me, Harry.’ Her trembling seized on me like a fire. I said, ‘Yes,’ though my heart sank as if I had lost my father with the word. She caught me in her arms tight, murmuring, ‘And dry our tears and make our house laugh. Oh! since the night that Harry went..... And I am now Harry’s mama, he has me.’
I looked on her forehead for the wreath of white flowers my mother used to wear, and thought of my father’s letter with the prayer written on the black-bordered page. I said I would go, but my joy in going was gone. We were stopped in the doorway by Mrs. Waddy. Nothing would tempt her to surrender me. Mr. Bannerbridge tried reasoning with her, and, as he said, put the case, which seemed to have perched on his forefinger. He talked of my prospects, of my sole chance of being educated morally and virtuously as became the grandson of an English gentleman of a good old family, and of my father having spent my mother’s estate, and of the danger of his doing so with mine, and of religious duty and the awfulness of the position Mrs. Waddy stood in. He certainly subdued me to very silent breathing, but did not affect me as my aunt Dorothy’s picturing of Riversley had done; and when Mrs. Waddy, reduced to an apparent submissiveness, addressed me piteously, ‘Master Richmond, would you leave papa?’ I cried out, ‘No, no, never leave my papa,’ and twisted away from my aunt’s keeping. My father’s arrival caused me to be withdrawn, but I heard his offer of his hospitality and all that was his; and subsequently there was loud talking on his part. I was kissed by my aunt before she went. She whispered, ‘Come to us when you are free; think of us when you pray.’ She was full of tears. Mr. Bannerbridge patted my head.
The door closed on them and I thought it was a vision that had passed. But now my father set my heart panting with questions as to the terrible possibility of us two ever being separated. In some way he painted my grandfather so black that I declared earnestly I would rather die than go to Riversley; I would never utter the name of the place where there was evil speaking of the one I loved dearest. ‘Do not, my son,’ he said solemnly, ‘or it parts us two.’ I repeated after him, ‘I am a Roy and not a Beltham.’ It was enough to hear that insult and shame had been cast on him at Riversley for me to hate the name of the place. We cried and then laughed together, and I must have delivered myself with amazing eloquence, for my father held me at arms’ length and said, ‘Richie, the notion of training you for a General commandership of the British army is a good one, but if you have got the winning tongue, the woolsack will do as well for a whisper in the ear of the throne. That is our aim, my son. We say,—you will not acknowledge our birth, you shall acknowledge our worth.’ He complained bitterly of my aunt Dorothy bringing a lawyer to our house. The sins of Mrs. Waddy were forgiven her, owing to her noble resistance to the legal gentleman’s seductive speech. So I walked up and down stairs with the kings of England looking at me out of the coloured windows quietly for a week; and then two ugly men entered the house, causing me to suffer a fearful oppression, though my father was exceedingly kind to them and had beds provided for them, saying that they were very old retainers of his.
But the next day our scarlet livery appeared. After exacting particular attention to his commands, my father quitted Mrs. Waddy, and we mounted the carriage, laughing at her deplorable eyes and prim lips, which he imitated for my amusement. ‘A load is off my head,’ he remarked. He asked me if splendour did not fatigue me also. I caught the answer from his face and replied that it did, and that I should like to go right on to Dipwell ‘The Burgundy sleeps safe there,’ said my father, and thought over it. We had an extraordinary day. People stood fast to gaze at us; in the country some pulled off their hats and set up a cheer. The landlords of the inns where we baited remained bare-headed until we started afresh, and I, according to my father’s example, bowed and lifted my cap gravely to persons saluting us along the roads. Nor did I seek to know the reason for this excess of respectfulness; I was beginning to take to it naturally. At the end of a dusty high-road, where it descends the hill into a town, we drew up close by a high red wall, behind which I heard boys shouting at play. We went among them, accompanied by their master. My father tipped the head boy for the benefit of the school, and following lunch with the master and his daughter, to whom I gave a kiss at her request, a half-holiday was granted to the boys in my name. How they cheered! The young lady saw my delight, and held me at the window while my father talked with hers; and for a long time after I beheld them in imagination talking: that is to say, my father issuing his instructions and Mr. Rippenger receiving them like a pliant hodman; for the result of it was that two days later, without seeing my kings of England, my home again, or London, I was Julia Rippenger’s intimate friend and the youngest pupil of the school. My father told me subsequently that we slept at an hotel those two nights intervening. Memory transplants me from the coach and scarlet livery straight to my place of imprisonment.
CHAPTER V. I MAKE A DEAR FRIEND
Heriot was the name of the head boy of the school. Boddy was the name of one of the ushers. They were both in love with Julia Rippenger. It was my fortune to outrun them in her favour for a considerable period, during which time, though I had ceased to live in state, and was wearing out my suits of velvet, and had neither visit nor letter from my father, I was in tolerable bliss. Julia’s kisses were showered on me for almost anything I said or did, but her admiration of heroism and daring was so fervent that I was in no greater danger of becoming effeminate than Achilles when he wore girl’s clothes. She was seventeen, an age bewitching for boys to look up to and men to look down on. The puzzle of the school was how to account for her close relationship to old Rippenger. Such an apple on such a crab-tree seemed monstrous. Heriot said that he hoped Boddy would marry old Rippenger’s real daughter, and, said he, that’s birch-twigs. I related his sparkling speech to Julia, who laughed, accusing him, however, of impudence. She let me see a portrait of her dead mother, an Irish lady raising dark eyelashes, whom she resembled. I talked of the portrait to Heriot, and as I had privileges accorded to none of the other boys and could go to her at any hour of the day after lessons, he made me beg for him to have a sight of it. She considered awhile, but refused. On hearing of the unkind refusal, Heriot stuck his hands into his pockets and gave up cricketing. We saw him leaning against a wall in full view of her window, while the boys crowded round him trying to get him to practise, a school-match of an important character coming off with a rival academy; and it was only through fear of our school being beaten if she did not relent that Julia handed me the portrait, charging me solemnly to bring it back. I promised, of course. Heriot went into his favourite corner of the playground, and there looked at it and kissed it, and then buttoned his jacket over it tight, growling when I asked him to return it. Julia grew frightened. She sent me with numbers of petitions to him.
‘Look here, young un,’ said Heriot; ‘you’re a good little fellow, and I like you, but just tell her I believe in nothing but handwriting, and if she writes to me for it humbly and nicely she shall have it back. Say I only want to get a copy taken by a first-rate painter.’
Julia shed tears at his cruelty, called him cruel, wicked, false to his word. She wrote, but the letter did not please him, and his reply was scornful. At prayers morning and evening, it was pitiful to observe her glance of entreaty and her downfallen eyelashes. I guessed that in Heriot’s letters to her he wanted to make her confess something, which she would not do. ‘Now I write to him no more; let him know it, my darling,’ she said, and the consequence of Heriot’s ungrateful obstinacy was that we all beheld her, at the ceremony of the consecration of the new church, place her hand on Mr. Boddy’s arm and allow him to lead her about. Heriot kept his eyes on them; his mouth was sharp, and his arms stiff by his sides. I was the bearer of a long letter to her that evening. She tore it to pieces without reading it. Next day Heriot walked slowly past Mr. Boddy holding the portrait in his hands. The usher called to him!
‘What have you there, Heriot?’
My hero stared. ‘Only a family portrait,’ he answered, thrusting it safe in his pocket and fixing his gaze on Julia’s window.
‘Permit me to look at it,’ said Mr. Boddy.
‘Permit me to decline to let you,’ said Heriot.
‘Look at me, sir,’ cried Boddy.
‘I prefer to look elsewhere, sir,’ replied Heriot, and there was Julia visible at her window.
‘I asked you, sir, civilly,’ quoth Boddy, ‘for permission to look,—I used the word intentionally; I say I asked you for permission…’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Heriot retorted, quite cool; ‘inferentially you did; but you did not use the word permission.’
‘And you turned upon me impudently,’ pursued Boddy, whose colour was thunder: ‘you quibbled, sir; you prevaricated; you concealed what you were carrying…’
‘Am carrying,’ Heriot corrected his tense; ‘and mean to, in spite of every Boddy,’ he murmured audibly.
‘Like a rascal detected in an act of felony,’ roared Boddy, ‘you concealed it, sir…’
‘Conceal it, sir.’
‘And I demand, in obedience to my duty, that you instantly exhibit it for my inspection, now, here, at once; no parleying; unbutton, or I call Mr. Rippenger to compel you.’
I was standing close by my brave Heriot, rather trembling, studious of his manfulness though I was. His left foot was firmly in advance, as he said, just in the manner to start an usher furious:
‘I concealed it, I conceal it; I was carrying it, I carry it: you demand that I exhibit for your inspection what I mean no Boddy to see? I have to assure you respectfully, sir, that family portraits are sacred things with the sons of gentlemen. Here, Richie, off!’
I found the portrait in my hand, and Heriot between me and the usher, in the attitude of a fellow keeping another out of his home at prisoner’s-base. He had spied Mr. Rippenger’s head at the playground gate. I had just time to see Heriot and the usher in collision before I ran through the gate and into Julia’s arms in her garden, whither the dreadful prospect of an approaching catastrophe had attracted her.
Heriot was merely reported guilty of insolence. He took his five hundred lines of Virgil with his usual sarcastic dignity: all he said to Mr. Rippenger was, ‘Let it be about Dido, sir,’ which set several of the boys upon Dido’s history, but Heriot was condemned to the battles with Turnus. My share in this event secured Heriot’s friendship to me without costing me the slightest inconvenience. ‘Papa would never punish you,’ Julia said; and I felt my rank. Nor was it wonderful I should when Mr. Rippenger was constantly speaking of my father’s magnificence in my presence before company. Allowed to draw on him largely for pocket-money, I maintained my father’s princely reputation in the school. At times, especially when the holidays arrived and I was left alone with Julia, I had fits of mournfulness, and almost thought the boys happier than I was. Going home began to seem an unattainable thing to me. Having a father, too, a regular father, instead of a dazzling angel that appeared at intervals, I considered a benefaction, in its way, some recompense to the boys, for their not possessing one like mine. My anxiety was relieved by my writing letters to my father, addressed to the care of Miss Julia Rippenger, and posting them in her work-basket. She favoured me with very funny replies, signed, ‘Your own ever-loving Papa,’ about his being engaged killing Bengal tigers and capturing white elephants, a noble occupation that gave me exciting and consolatory dreams of him.
We had at last a real letter of his, dated from a foreign city; but he mentioned nothing of coming to me. I understood that Mr. Rippenger was disappointed with it.
Gradually a kind of cloud stole over me. I no longer liked to ask for pocket-money; I was clad in a suit of plain cloth; I was banished from the parlour, and only on Sunday was I permitted to go to Julia. I ceased to live in myself. Through the whole course of lessons, at play-time, in my bed, and round to morning bell, I was hunting my father in an unknown country, generally with the sun setting before me: I ran out of a wood almost into a brook to see it sink as if I had again lost sight of him, and then a sense of darkness brought me back to my natural consciousness, without afflicting me much, but astonishing me. Why was I away from him? I could repeat my lessons in the midst of these dreams quite fairly; it was the awakening among the circle of the boys that made me falter during a recital and ask myself why I was there and he absent? They had given over speculating on another holiday and treat from my father; yet he had produced such an impression in the school that even when I had descended to the level of a total equality with them, they continued to have some consideration for me. I was able to talk of foreign cities and could tell stories, and I was, besides, under the immediate protection of Heriot. But now the shadow of a great calamity fell on me, for my dear Heriot announced his intention of leaving the school next half.
‘I can’t stand being prayed at, morning and evening, by a fellow who hasn’t the pluck to strike me like a man,’ he said. Mr. Rippenger had the habit of signalizing offenders, in his public prayers, as boys whose hearts he wished to be turned from callousness. He perpetually suspected plots; and to hear him allude to some deep, long-hatched school conspiracy while we knelt motionless on the forms, and fetch a big breath to bring out, ‘May the heart of Walter Heriot be turned and he comprehend the multitudinous blessings,’ etc., was intensely distressing. Together with Walter Heriot, Andrew Saddlebank, our best bowler, the drollest fellow in the world, John Salter, and little Gus Temple, were oftenest cited. They declared that they invariably uttered ‘Amen,’ as Heriot did, but we none of us heard this defiant murmur of assent from their lips. Heriot pronounced it clearly and cheerfully, causing Julia’s figure to shrink as she knelt with her face in the chair hard by her father’s desk-pulpit. I received the hearty congratulations of my comrades for singing out ‘Amen’ louder than Heriot, like a chorister, though not in so prolonged a note, on hearing to my stupefaction Mr. Rippenger implore that the heart of ‘him we know as Richmond Roy’ might be turned. I did it spontaneously. Mr. Rippenger gazed at me in descending from his desk; Julia, too, looking grieved. For my part, I exulted in having done a thing that gave me a likeness to Heriot.
‘Little Richmond, you’re a little hero,’ he said, caressing me. ‘I saw old Rippenger whisper to that beast, Boddy. Never mind; they won’t hurt you as long as I’m here. Grow tough, that’s what you’ve got to do. I’d like to see you horsed, only to see whether you’re game to take it without wincing—if it didn’t hurt you much, little lad.’
He hugged me up to him.
‘I’d take anything for you, Heriot,’ said I.
‘All right,’ he answered, never meaning me to suffer on his account. He had an inimitable manner of sweet speaking that endeared him to younger boys capable of appreciating it, with the supernatural power of music. It endeared him, I suppose, to young women also. Julia repeated his phrases, as for instance, ‘Silly boy, silly boy,’ spoken with a wave of his hand, when a little fellow thanked him for a kindness. She was angry at his approval of what she called my defiance of her father, and insisted that I was the catspaw of one of Heriot’s plots to vex him. ‘Tell Heriot you have my command to say you belong to me and must not be misled,’ she said. His answer was that he wanted it in writing. She requested him to deliver up her previous letters. Thereupon he charged me with a lengthy epistle, which plunged us into boiling water. Mr. Boddy sat in the schoolroom while Heriot’s pen was at work, on the wet Sunday afternoon. His keen little eyes were busy in his flat bird’s head all the time Heriot continued writing. He saw no more than that Heriot gave me a book; but as I was marching away to Julia he called to know where I was going.
‘To Miss Rippenger,’ I replied.
‘What have you there?’
‘A book, sir.’
‘Show me the book.’
I stood fast.
‘It ‘s a book I have lent him, sir,’ said Heriot, rising. ‘I shall see if it’s a fit book for a young boy,’ said Boddy; and before Heriot could interpose, he had knocked the book on the floor, and out fell the letter. Both sprang down to seize it: their heads encountered, but Heriot had the quicker hand; he caught the letter, and cried ‘Off!’ to me, as on another occasion. This time, however, he was not between me and the usher. I was seized by the collar, and shakes roughly.
‘You will now understand that you are on a footing with the rest of the boys, you Roy,’ said Boddy. ‘Little scoundrelly spoilt urchins, upsetting the discipline of the school, won’t do here. Heriot, here is your book. I regret,’ he added, sneering, ‘that a leaf is torn.’
‘I regret, sir, that the poor boy was so savagely handled,’ said Heriot.
He was warned to avoid insolence.
‘Oh, as much Virgil as you like,’ Heriot retorted; ‘I know him by heart.’
It was past the hour of my customary visit to Julia, and she came to discover the reason of my delay. Boddy stood up to explain. Heriot went forward, saying, ‘I think I’m the one who ought to speak, Miss Rippenger. The fact is, I hear from little Roy that you are fond of tales of Indian adventure, and I gave him a book for you to read, if you like it. Mr. Boddy objected, and treated the youngster rather rigorously. It must have been quite a misunderstanding on his part. Here is the book it’s extremely amusing.’
Julia blushed very red. She accepted the book with a soft murmur, and the sallow usher had not a word.
‘Stay,’ said Heriot. ‘I took the liberty to write some notes. My father is an Indian officer, you know, and some of the terms in the book are difficult without notes. Richie, hand that paper. Here they are, Miss Rippenger, if you’ll be so kind as to place them in the book.’
I was hoping with all my might that she would not deny him. She did, and my heart sank.
‘Oh, I can read it without notes,’ she said, cheerfully.
After that, I listened with indifference to her petition to Boddy that I might be allowed to accompany her, and was not at all chagrined by his refusal. She laid down the book, saying that I could bring it to her when I was out of disgrace.
In the evening we walked in the playground, where Heriot asked me to do a brave thing, which he would never forget. This was that I should take a sharp run right past Boddy, who was pacing up and down before the gate leading into Julia’s garden, and force her to receive the letter. I went bounding like a ball. The usher, suspecting only that I hurried to speak to him, let me see how indignant he was with my behaviour by striding all the faster as I drew near, and so he passed the gate, and I rushed in. I had just time to say to Julia, ‘Hide it, or I’m in such a scrape.’
The next minute she was addressing my enemy:
‘Surely you would not punish him because he loves me?’ and he, though he spoke of insubordination, merited chastisement; and other usher phrases, seemed to melt, and I had what I believe was a primary conception of the power of woman. She led him to talk in the gentlest way possible of how the rain had refreshed her flowers, and of this and that poor rose.
I could think of nothing but the darling letter, which had flashed out of sight as a rabbit pops into burrows. Boddy departed with a rose.
‘Ah, Richie,’ she said, ‘I have to pay to have you with me now.’
We walked to the summer-house, where she read Heriot’s letter through. ‘But he is a boy! How old is Heriot? He is not so old as I am!’
These were her words, and she read the letter anew, and read it again after she had placed it in her bosom, I meanwhile pouring out praises of Heriot.
‘You speak of him as if you were in love with him, Richmond,’ she said.
‘And I do love him,’ I answered.
‘Not with me?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I do love you too, if you will not make him angry.’
‘But do you know what it is he wants of me?’
I guessed: ‘Yes; he wants you to let him sit close to you for half an hour.’
She said that he sat very near her in church.
‘Ah,’ said I, ‘but he mustn’t interrupt the sermon.’
She laughed, and mouthed me over with laughing kisses. ‘There’s very little he hasn’t daring enough for!’
We talked of his courage.
‘Is he good as well?’ said Julia, more to herself than to me; but I sang out,
‘Good! Oh, so kind!’
This appeared to convince her.
‘Very generous to you and every one, is he not?’ she said; and from that moment was all questions concerning his kind treatment of the boys, and as to their looking up to him.
I quitted her, taking her message to Heriot: ‘You may tell him—tell him that I can’t write.’
Heriot frowned on hearing me repeat it.
‘Humph!’ he went, and was bright in a twinkling: ‘that means she’ll come!’ He smacked his hands together, grew black, and asked, ‘Did she give that beast Boddy a rose?’
I had to confess she did; and feeling a twinge of my treason to her, felt hers to Heriot.
‘Humph!’ he went; ‘she shall suffer for that.’
All this was like music going on until the curtain should lift and reveal my father to me.
There was soon a secret to be read in Heriot’s face for one who loved it as I did. Julia’s betrayed nothing. I was not taken into their confidence, and luckily not; otherwise I fear I should have served them ill, I was so poor a dissembler and was so hotly plied with interrogations by the suspicious usher. I felt sure that Heriot and Julia met. His eyes were on her all through prayer-time, and hers wandered over the boys’ heads till they rested on him, when they gave a short flutter and dropped, like a bird shot dead. The boys must have had some knowledge that love was busy in their midst, for they spoke of Heriot and Julia as a jolly couple, and of Boddy as one meaning to play the part of old Nick the first opportunity. She was kinder to them than ever. It was not a new thing that she should send in cakes of her own making, but it was extraordinary that we should get these thoughtful presents as often as once a fortnight, and it became usual to hear a boy exclaim, either among a knot of fellows or to himself, ‘By jingo, she is a pretty girl!’ on her passing out of the room, and sometimes entirely of his own idea. I am persuaded that if she had consented to marry Boddy, the boys would have been seriously disposed to conspire to jump up in the church and forbid the banns. We should have preferred to hand her to the junior usher, Catman, of whom the rumour ran in the school that he once drank a bottle of wine and was sick after it, and he was therefore a weak creature to our minds; the truth of the rumour being confirmed by his pale complexion. That we would have handed our blooming princess to him was full proof of our abhorrence of Boddy. I might have thought with the other boys that she was growing prettier, only I never could imagine her so delicious as when she smiled at my father.
The consequence of the enlistment of the whole school in Heriot’s interests was that at cricket-matches, picnics on the hills, and boating on the canal, Mr. Boddy was begirt with spies, and little Temple reported to Heriot a conversation that he, lying hidden in tall grass, had heard between Boddy and Julia. Boddy asked her to take private lessons in French from him. Heriot listened to the monstrous tale as he was on the point of entering Julia’s boat, where Boddy sat beside her, and Heriot rowed stroke-oar. He dipped his blade, and said, loud enough to be heard by me in Catman’s boat,
‘Do you think French useful in a military education, sir?’
And Boddy said, ‘Yes, of course it is.’
Says Heriot, ‘Then I think I shall take lessons.’
Boddy told him he was taking lessons in the school.
‘Oh!’ says Heriot, ‘I mean private lessons’; and here he repeated one of Temple’s pieces of communication: ‘so much more can be imparted in a private lesson!’
Boddy sprang half up from his seat. ‘Row, sir, and don’t talk,’ he growled.
‘Sit, sir, and don’t dance in the boat, if you please, or the lady will be overset,’ said Heriot.
Julia requested to be allowed to land and walk home. Boddy caught the rudder lines and leapt on the bank to hand her out; then all the boys in her boat and in Catman’s shouted, ‘Miss Julia! dear Miss Julia, don’t leave us!’ and we heard wheedling voices: ‘Don’t go off with him alone!’ Julia bade us behave well or she would not be able to come out with us. At her entreaty Boddy stepped back to his post, and the two boats went forward like swans that have done ruffling their feathers.
The boys were exceedingly disappointed that no catastrophe followed the events of the day. Heriot, they thought, might have upset the boat, saved Julia, and drowned Boddy, and given us a feast of pleasurable excitement: instead of which Boddy lived to harass us with his tyrannical impositions and spiteful slaps, and it was to him, not to our Heriot, that Julia was most gracious. Some of us discussed her conduct.
‘She’s a coquette,’ said little Temple. I went off to the French dictionary.
‘Is Julia Rippenger a coquette, Heriot?’ I asked him.
‘Keep girls out of your heads, you little fellows,’ said he, dealing me a smart thump.
‘Is a coquette a nasty girl?’ I persisted.
‘No, a nice one, as it happens,’ was his answer.
My only feeling was jealousy of the superior knowledge of the sex possessed by Temple, for I could not fathom the meaning of coquette; but he had sisters. Temple and I walked the grounds together, mutually declaring how much we would forfeit for Heriot’s sake. By this time my Sunday visits to Julia had been interdicted: I was plunged, as it were, in the pit of the school, and my dreams of my father were losing distinctness. A series of boxes on the ears from Boddy began to astound and transform me. Mr. Rippenger, too, threatened me with carvings, though my offences were slight. ‘Yes,’ said Temple and I, in chorus, ‘but you daren’t strike Heriot!’ This was our consolation, and the sentiment of the school. Fancy, then, our amazement to behold him laying the cane on Heriot’s shoulders as fiercely as he could, and Boddy seconding him. The scene was terrible. We were all at our desks doing evening tasks for the morrow, a great matchday at cricket, Boddy watching over us, and bellowing, ‘Silence at your work, you lazy fellows, if you want lessons to be finished at ten in the morning!’ A noise came growing up to us from below, up the stairs from the wet-weather shed, and Heriot burst into the room, old Rippenger after him, panting.
‘Mr. Boddy, you were right,’ he cried, ‘I find him a prowler, breaking all rules of discipline. A perverted, impudent rascal! An example shall be set to my school, sir. We have been falling lax. What! I find the puppy in my garden whistling—he confesses—for one of my servants—here, Mr. Boddy, if you please. My school shall see that none insult me with impunity!’ He laid on Heriot like a wind on a bulrush. Heriot bent his shoulders a trifle, not his head.
‘Hit away, sir,’ he said, during the storm of blows, and I, through my tears, imagined him (or I do now) a young eagle forced to bear the thunder, but with his face to it. Then we saw Boddy lay hands on him, and in a twinkling down pitched the usher, and the boys cheered—chirped, I should say, they exulted so, and merely sang out like birds, without any wilfulness of delight or defiance. After the fall of Boddy we had no sense of our hero suffering shame. Temple and I clutched fingers tight as long as the blows went on. We hoped for Boddy to make another attempt to touch Heriot; he held near the master, looking ready to spring, like a sallow panther; we kept hoping he would, in our horror of the murderous slashes of the cane; and not a syllable did Heriot utter. Temple and I started up, unaware of what we were going to do, or of anything until we had got a blow a-piece, and were in the thick of it, and Boddy had us both by the collars, and was knocking our heads together, as he dragged us back to our seats. But the boys told us we stopped the execution. Mr. Rippenger addressed us before he left the school-room. Saddlebank, Salter, and a good many others, plugged their ears with their fists. That night Boddy and Catman paced in the bedchambers, to prevent plotting and conspiracy, they said. I longed to get my arms about Heriot, and thought of him, and dreamed of blood, and woke in the morning wondering what made me cry, and my arms and back very stiff. Heriot was gay as ever, but had fits of reserve; the word passed round that we were not to talk of yesterday evening. We feared he would refuse to play in the match.
‘Why not?’ said he, staring at us angrily. ‘Has Saddlebank broken his arm, and can’t bowl?’
No, Saddlebank was in excellent trim, though shamefaced, as was Salter, and most of the big boys were. They begged Heriot to let them shake his hand.
‘Wait till we win our match,’ said Heriot.
Julia did not appear at morning prayers.
‘Ah,’ said Temple, ‘it’d make her sick to hear old Massacre praying.’ It had nearly made him sick, he added, and I immediately felt that it had nearly made me sick.
We supposed we should not see Julia at the match. She came, however, and talked to everybody. I could not contain myself, I wanted so to tell her what had befallen Heriot overnight, while he was batting, and the whole ground cheering his hits. I on one side of her whispered:
