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 •""""^I BR. A R. Y ^ "'' 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 or 1 LLINOIS 
 
 
 dZ3 
 
 AtZS^ 
 
 v./
 
 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 % Storg, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 
 
 [All rights reserved.}
 
 LONDON : 
 ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRaS ROAD, N.W.
 
 en 
 
 > 
 
 
 
 \! 
 
 
 ?^3 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP, 
 
 I. l^ETHERTON 
 
 II. Emmy 
 
 III. Paradise-place 
 
 IV. The School . 
 
 V. "Bones" 
 VI. A Difference 
 
 VII. The Fifth of November 
 VIII. In the Hospital . 
 IX. The Day after the Fire 
 X. The Talk on the Beach 
 XI. Development . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 15 
 
 33 
 
 56 
 
 70 
 
 96 
 
 109 
 
 132 
 
 154 
 176 
 199 
 
 A 
 
 4
 
 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 -»«:**- 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 NETHEETON. 
 
 iHE town of Netherton-on-Sea has 
 grown up within the last half- 
 century from being little more 
 than a fishino; - villao-e to be a tradino^-mart 
 and a packet-station. Tall chimneys now 
 support a brooding cloud of smoke, where, 
 Avithin the memory of middle-aged men, the 
 salt sea-breeze played over the yellow grass 
 and the tidal pools of the marshes. Through 
 those marshes the sluggish river Even (origi- 
 nally, it may be surmised, one of the many 
 British Avons) made its way to the sea, — 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 B
 
 2 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 half the day a broad salt canal, the other 
 half a waste of brown mud with a turbid 
 runnel in the middle. Now, all this tran- 
 sition state of the Even is masked by docks 
 and basins; and its queer name is read in 
 a dozen combinations on rows and streets 
 and terraces. We have Evendale, Even- 
 side, Evenport; a whole populous suburb 
 is called Evenborough; a conspicuous villa 
 facing westward over the sea rejoices in 
 the romantic appellation of Eventide ; and 
 a facetious manufacturer has built a large 
 agglomeration of " works," inscribed over 
 the entrance, in gigantic letters, Evenso, 
 and rambling on into a great ugly " an- 
 nex," inscribed, in its turn, Evejs^mohe. 
 
 Fine churches are seldom met with on 
 the coast, and that of Netherton had been 
 no exception to the rule. A massive stone 
 tower, hardly asserting its superiority 
 above the big roofs which had gathered
 
 NETHERTON. 
 
 around it, was the only sign which the 
 national establishment gave, as Netherton 
 was seen from the neighbouring hills. 
 
 Those hills rose on either side the 
 town, leaving only the estuary and its 
 bordering fields. Their outline Avas mostly 
 flat, and the promontories which ran out 
 into the valley were not rounded off, but 
 sloped almost in straight lines down to 
 the meadows. Seaward the face of the hills 
 north and south of the town was escarped 
 into noble cliiFs. That on the north was 
 a sheer mass of gray limestone, reaching 
 at its highest point about 300 feet; while 
 the southern cliff showed a succession of 
 sloping grassy terraces interposed between 
 the stratifications of the stone. 
 
 Up the steep face of this cliff, nearest 
 the town, climbed a series of villas and 
 gardens, leading to what was once the 
 sister-village of " Overton-at-ClifF," or as
 
 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 the " rising generation," smitten by me- 
 dioBvalism, now insist on spelling it, " atte 
 Cliffe." Its humble church and bell-cot 
 had long ago given way to a pretentious 
 but pretty gothic successor, with a some- 
 what exaggerated spire, whose height had 
 been increased by a grant from the Trinity 
 Board, that it might serve for a mark at 
 sea. 
 
 Round this spire were grouped the 
 cottages ornees and the mansions of the 
 Netherton aristocracy ; and it must be 
 confessed that the lines had fallen to them 
 in pleasant places. The sea view was of 
 course magnificent, as every sea view from 
 a height must be ; and landward even the 
 smoky town looked inter estmg, embosomed 
 in green hills, whose promontories stretched 
 away fainter and fainter with the windings 
 of the river disappearing in the distance. 
 
 As the road descends from Overton,
 
 NETHEETON. 
 
 after it has passed the houses and gardens, 
 with their bright bell-handles and their 
 motley-coloured and patterned walls and 
 palings, it reaches a waste uneven space, 
 stretchino; as far as the brido-e over the 
 Even and the railway terminus. It is, in 
 fact, an exhausted brickfield waiting to be 
 built over; the resort of idle children by 
 day and of wauling cats at night. For 
 the former of these there was abundant 
 matter of amusement. All manner of rub- 
 bish was carted to this space, and lay in 
 heaps, ready to form embanked streets 
 when building time arrived. Why it had 
 not arrived, was accounted for by the fact 
 that this ground was extra-parochial, hav- 
 ing been in ancient days part of the beach ; 
 and men of law were not yet agreed as to 
 its appropriation and government. From 
 this circumstance, it passed by the name 
 of " No-man's Land."
 
 6 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 At a certain moment, not many years 
 since, " No-man's Land" was the almost 
 undisputed territory of a band of young 
 ones of the rougher order; such as seem 
 to be alwa^^s out of school, just because 
 they never are in it. 
 
 Among these children was one incom- 
 parably more ragged than the rest. He 
 was a lad of some fourteen years old, and 
 the most complete picture of an unkempt, 
 uncared-for scamp. The mop of tangled 
 tow which served for his hair hung in 
 mats, and flapped in the wind as he ruoved. 
 Part of a shoulder peeped out from what 
 had been a jacket; the feet of course were 
 bare, and the torn fringe which termi- 
 nated the trousers could hai'dly be said 
 to reach below the knees. 
 
 In justice it should be said, that this 
 extraordinary being had a countenance far 
 from repulsive. The face was round, mth
 
 NETHEETON. 
 
 a straight comely moutli and a pair of 
 large black eyes. Strange to say, it was 
 a face which, full turned upon you, made 
 you for the moment forget the roughness 
 and the rags. There was a look of loving 
 good-nature, coupled with a sly insinuating 
 humour, and withal a something eerie 
 and, so to speak, far-away, in the look out. 
 The better class were seen, as they went 
 to and fro, stojDping and talking to the 
 lad as if he had been clad like other people. 
 You felt sure, whatever question you had 
 to ask, that you would get the best answer 
 fourteen years had to give; that whatever 
 could be known by such a boy was kno'vvn, 
 and would be well put into words, by 
 that boy. And no one was ever seen to 
 offer him anything. Somehow people for- 
 got that he was ragged and needy. There 
 was that in the look and voice which ab- 
 solutely forbade almsgiving.
 
 8 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 At the moment specified, this youth 
 was in full 2:ame and hio-h frolic with, 
 about half-a-dozen boys and girls mostly 
 younger than himself. There was much 
 running backward and forward in a kind 
 of maze; and there appeared to be a ball 
 hit about and thrown up to a group in 
 the centre, as in the game of rounders. 
 The others evidently looked up to the 
 ragged lad, who seemed the arbitrator of 
 differences and the doer of kindly deeds. 
 One little fellow, passably dressed, stum- 
 bled as he ran, and fell over some loose 
 brickbats on a heap of oyster- shells. The 
 ragged one darted to the spot and com- 
 forted the blubbering urchin, while he 
 brushed the dirt from his clothes. 
 
 " Look out, ' Pak,' " cried a voice ; 
 "here come the scholars." 
 
 " I'm alive, Benjie; all right." 
 
 The " scholars " were generally the
 
 NETHERTON. 
 
 signal for a breeze. They were the youths 
 forniing the school of Dr. Digam, which, 
 still, in defiance of the great proprietary 
 " college" on the slope over Evenborough, 
 maintained its place as the ancient gram- 
 mar-school of Netherton. A rag^o-ed lad 
 was always fine sport for the "scholars;" 
 and though the wild good-nature of "Pak," 
 coupled with his reputed omniscience as 
 to various matters which interest boys, 
 had won some of them for his friends, 
 even those were half-ashamed of him ; and 
 the rest — and notably of course the more 
 worthless lads in the school — simj^ly re- 
 garded him as they would a cat or a rat, 
 an object to chase and to shy stones at. 
 However, this was not immediately their 
 mood on the present occasion. One or 
 two of the young gentlemen had not for- 
 gotten the feel of Pak's hard grip and 
 sharp knuckles on occasion of the last
 
 10 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 melee ; and tlie bigger boys had with them 
 a wire-haired terrier, with which they were 
 ferretting the holes in the broken ground 
 for rats. 
 
 It should have been mentioned that 
 a little well-dressed girl, with her school- 
 satchel and slate, was sitting on a brick- 
 heap, watching the play. It was Pak's 
 turn to strike the ball. As he threw it 
 up and lifted his bat to hit it, he caught 
 sight of the little girl, who started sud- 
 denly from her seat, and threw up her 
 arms in dismay. At the same moment, a 
 cry of " TiiFy ! TiiFy ! to the chase !" burst 
 from the scholars. The whole scene was 
 changed in an instant. Schoolboys and 
 terrier seemed converging upon some 
 object — the former picking up oyster-shells 
 and whatever came to hand, the latter 
 tearing along, ventre a ierre, in full cry, 
 and meanins: unmistakable mischief.
 
 NETHEETON. 11 
 
 Pak had let drop his bat and ball, 
 and, with the rapidity and firm course of 
 a barefoot runner, was in among them 
 hitting out right and left, and knocking 
 over like ninepins the small boys who were 
 hindmost. The little girl was following at 
 a safe distance ; and the " rounder" party, 
 headed by Benjie, straggled after, seeming 
 as if they had rather not be in at the fun, 
 whatever it was to be. 
 
 What was the meaning > of all this ? A 
 gaunt object was stalking along the road 
 which, as has been said, bordered the 
 eastern side of " No-man's Land." It was 
 a tall spare man, wrapped in what had 
 once been a cloak, trimmed with fur, and 
 having on his head an old German smok- 
 ing-cap. The owner of this quaint cos- 
 tume had his face turned across the brick- 
 field to the sea, where the sun was just 
 setting in splendour, with a track of fire
 
 12 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 bridging the waves to the sinking disk. 
 Consequently, his eyes were directed across 
 the very spot where all this rush was 
 taking place ; and already several pieces 
 of brick and oyster-shell had whizzed by, 
 in what would have been to anyone else 
 most unpleasant proximity. Still he 
 seemed abstracted, or perhaps dazzled, in 
 his gaze on the sun, and was unconscious 
 of it all. This could not have lasted lono^ : 
 for the foremost of his persecutors were 
 rapidly approaching him. But another 
 occupation was found for them, in the 
 midst of which the intended victim stalked 
 off the scene as he had come on it. Pak, 
 in a few seconds, was even with the first 
 rank, made up of boys considerably bigger 
 than himself. 
 
 " Let the man alone, I say, you lot of 
 cowardl}^ bulUes!" 
 
 In an instant, the chase was at an end,
 
 NETHERTON. 13 
 
 and four orreat fellows had closed in on its 
 bold interrupter. For a few moments he 
 held his own, and was dealing formidable 
 blows, clearing the space first on one side 
 of him, then on another, when a big boy, 
 watching his opportunity, "fetched" him 
 a kick with his heav}^ boot under the right 
 knee, and brought him to the ground. 
 The little girl, who by this time had come 
 up, sent forth so shrill a shriek on seeing 
 this, and Pak was so soon on his legs 
 again, and so evidently not yet beaten, 
 that the boys, muttering that they should 
 not be back for school-call, but in truth not 
 half liking the job, made off along the road 
 to Netherton, leaving " rags" and the little 
 lassie alone in the field. 
 
 Anyone who was on the high-road at 
 the time might have observed a tender 
 passage between these two ; might have 
 seen her take out her little clean hand-
 
 14 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 kerchief and bind it round the wound ; 
 after which a certain approximation of the 
 two fio;ures suo-o-ested the idea that even a 
 kiss had passed from the grateful hero. 
 " They needn't have kicked me iliere^'' he 
 murmured ; and, saj^ing it, he limped off 
 with somewhat of a grandiose air, leading 
 his companion by his side.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 EMMY. 
 
 [HE little girl thus borne off in 
 triumph looked a bright creature 
 tripping along by Pak's side, her 
 eyes sj)arkling, and cheeks all a-glow with 
 the excitement of the late adventure. A 
 strikmg contrast, too, with her pretty red 
 cloak, neatly- strained stockings, and holeless 
 boots, to the ragged hero who formed her 
 escort. But a real hero he was to her not- 
 withstanding, as besides her eager eyes her 
 very gait and step testified. Those same 
 eyes were, perhaps, Emmy's chief claim to 
 beauty. They were very large, dark 
 brown in colour, with long lashes, curving
 
 16 NETHEKTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 backwards. But their charm lay in a con- 
 stantly varying expression. One moment 
 they sparkled with fun, the next they were 
 sad and pitiful, and had a habit of sub- 
 siding by a soft diminuendo into that 
 grave, thoughtful, dreamy look which in 
 a child is the most touching of any. Her 
 hair was of a rich auburn, and hung in 
 clustering natural curls round the shapely 
 httle head and against the rosy cheeks. 
 As for her features, they were small and 
 childish, with nothing particularly striking 
 about them. The general result, however, 
 was that anyone who met her on her way 
 to school, with her happy, healthy face, 
 would note her as a very comely little 
 maiden. 
 
 There were two or three close lanes 
 branching off from the old High-street by 
 which the two entered Netherton, and 
 leading down to the river, which, curv-
 
 EMMY. 17 
 
 ing from the bridge over which they 
 had passed, skirted that side of the town. 
 At the entrance of one of these, the two 
 parted company, and betook themselves, — 
 he, whithersoever it might hajDpen ; she, 
 in some haste, to her cosy home, near the 
 end of the dismal alley. It was, as we have 
 already hinted, far on in the evening, and 
 that of an autumn day. This Emmy 
 seemed suddenly to discover, and besides, 
 that it had clouded over, and a misty rain 
 was beginning to fall. So, with somewhat 
 of a dej)ressed feeling, she ran down the 
 narrow lane, which deepened in gloom 
 onwards, from the fact that the huge roof 
 of a newly-erected factory towered over 
 it to the west. ISTot far from the end, she 
 reached a lower house than any of the 
 others, standing slightly apart from them 
 all, but absolutely nestling under the 
 corner of the great factory just mentioned. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 It looked on the outside a gloomy-enough 
 place for so bright a little creature to call 
 her home. But directly she had opened 
 the door and peeped in, the whole aspect 
 of thino^s was changed. It seemed like a 
 bit of enchantment to one who came in 
 from the gloom without. A bright wood- 
 fire illuminated the room and all that was 
 in it, from the well- scoured kettle that 
 sung on the hob, to the bit of crimson 
 curtain drawn across the one little window, 
 and the many gay pictures pinned against 
 the wall. On a low chair in front of the 
 fire, with one hand shading her face from 
 the blaze, and with the other holding some 
 bread to toast at the bars, sat Emmy's 
 mother. The mother was not unlike her 
 daughter, only the roses had faded out of 
 her cheeks, and the fun and frolic had 
 gone from her eyes. But it was a gentle, 
 lovable face ; and the smile that greeted
 
 EMMY. 19 
 
 Emmy on her entrance was a very sweet 
 one. 
 
 " My mother, how beautiful you look !" 
 exclaimed the little maiden ; "I must rub 
 my eyes to be sure I'm not in a dream. 
 You can't think how dark and gloomy 
 'tis out of doors ; this brightness quite 
 dazzles me." 
 
 " I know it must be dark, my child ; 
 for, see, it's just half- past five. What 
 kept you so late ? Were you naughty at 
 school ?" 
 
 " no, mother, I was as good as gold, 
 and have been out of school this ever so 
 long. I'll tell you all about it when we're 
 having our tea, but I'm cold and hungry 
 now." 
 
 The mother looked anxiously at her 
 little girl for a minute ; but then, finding 
 she was wet, gave all her thoughts to get- 
 ting her cloak and boots dry ; and it was
 
 20 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 not till they were half- way through their 
 tea that she again asked Emmy what she 
 had been doino;. 
 
 Now the little girl had been dreading 
 this question all the time, and the prospect 
 of it had considerably interfered with her 
 enjoyment of the hot toast and tea. For 
 this same ragged hero of hers was the only 
 point of contention between her and her 
 fond mother. Mrs. Benson had been left 
 a mdow when Emmy was two years old, 
 and for the last ten years had striven 
 bravely, and for the most part cheerfully, 
 to maintain her little daughter and herself. 
 Sam Benson, as he was universally called, 
 was quite the tip - top carpenter of the 
 place, and a highly-respected member ' of 
 society. But he had, in an evil hour, taken 
 the typhus-fever, which was at that time 
 the possessing demon of back streets in 
 country towns ; and, with a boy older than
 
 EMMY. 21 
 
 Emmy, and another a baby, had been car- 
 ried off m a few weeks. 
 
 Although, after the stoppage of his 
 ample receipts, his widow found herself in 
 a very different position, yet amidst all 
 her struggles she maintained very strongly 
 her feeling of respectability, and was most 
 anxious to keep little Emmy from unde- 
 sirable companions. Till lately, nothing 
 had occurred to arouse her fears for the 
 child. When not in the schoolroom or 
 playground, she was quite content with 
 her mother, and they two had been all in 
 all to each other. Often in the long sum- 
 mer evenings they would lock up their 
 small possessions in the cottage, and go 
 off together to the fields, as happy as 
 thouo:h there were no such thino; as care 
 or toil in the world. On these occasions 
 they would return at dusk, with their 
 hands full of flowers to deck up their little
 
 22 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 room on the morrow. But a few weeks 
 before this time Emmy had formed a new 
 acquaintance, and had thereby given cause 
 of great anxiety and annoyance to her 
 mother. 
 
 This was how it came about. Emmy 
 had been sent off one morning with a 
 basket on her arm to purchase a supply 
 of ap2)les in the market. The good-natured 
 countryman who kept the stall, taken with 
 the little maid's pretty looks and manner, 
 gave her extra full measure, and filled her 
 basket to overflomng. She was carrying 
 it home delighted, and with special care, 
 when she came to an open space which 
 she was obliged to cross. Close to it a 
 lot of rough boys were playing ; and just 
 as she had achieved half her journey over 
 the dangerous ground, suddenly a swift 
 ball struck the basket out of her hand, 
 and dispersed its contents on the muddy
 
 EMMY. 23 
 
 road. An eager scramble at once began 
 among the yomig Arabs for Emmy's scat- 
 tered treasures, the poor little maiden 
 sitting down meanwhile on the pmnp- 
 trough hard by in utter misery. She had 
 been thinkmg of her mother's pleased sur- 
 prise at seeing so many more apples than 
 she had bargained for ; and this was such 
 a sudden damp to her happy thoughts, 
 that the poor child felt quite broken- 
 hearted. But presently she raised her sad 
 eyes, and looked wonderingly about her. 
 A scuffle was going on — it seemed to her 
 a dreadful fight — over these same apples. 
 One boy, the most ragged of the lot, was 
 loudly declaring that he it was who had 
 thrown the ball that knocked them over, — 
 that he had a right to say what should be 
 done with them, and that he chose they 
 should all be given back to the little girl 
 agam. However, might being right among
 
 24 NETHEKTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 these young savages, and the speaker stand- 
 mg alone on his side, there was some fist- 
 work to be done before he could gain his 
 point. But his sinews being powerful, and 
 a firm purpose being like a driven wedge, 
 not right only, but might also declared 
 for him. Before long the pack of thieves 
 were beaten off, and honesty remained vic- 
 torious. 
 
 Then Emmy, her eyes growing large 
 with wonder, saw her champion carefully 
 pick up all the apples, swill ofi" the mud 
 from them in the pump-trough, and then 
 place them carefully, looking more rosy 
 and shining than ever, in the basket again. 
 She was still in doubt whether he could 
 be doing this for her, when he came and 
 asked her where he should carry them 
 for her. 
 
 " 0, how good you are !" she said. 
 " I can't tell how to thank you ; but really
 
 EMMY. 25 
 
 you mustn't carry them for me ; I can 
 take them quite safely now ;" and, lookmg 
 up at him gratefully, she put out her hand 
 for the basket. 
 
 But it was of no use : her rao-cred friend 
 ras evidently accustomed to have his own 
 W; and telling her with a pleasant smile 
 to lead on, and the apples would follow, 
 he ^louldered the basket. 
 
 ih.en Emmy slid her little hand into 
 his roxgh brown one, and chatted away to 
 him aS\ they went along, as if she had 
 known Bm all her life. 
 
 It is\a curious thing, that intuitive 
 knowledo;© of character which children 
 
 o 
 
 often posses, and indeed those domestic 
 animals also who are next below our chil- 
 dren — feeling instinctively where to trust 
 entirely, and ^ere not. 
 
 Emmy and Yak were firm friends be- 
 fore they parted at her mother's door ;
 
 26 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 and the thankful little damsel told her 
 benefactor, with tears in her eyes, that 
 she should always love him for being so 
 good to her. 
 
 But the mother's delio-ht at the laro-f 
 store of apples did not come up to Emmys 
 expectations, so much was it damped by 
 their connection with the young Aral, of 
 whom she had caught a glimpse fron her 
 window. She talked very gravdy to 
 Emmy on the subject of " evil communi- 
 cations," &c. And the simple aiild de- 
 clared she wanted no companior but her 
 mother, but that she must al.vays love 
 this one, because she had said sle would. 
 
 So the little maiden cried herself to 
 sleep that night, and the porr mother sat 
 late over her dying fire, filed with more 
 anxious thoughts than al the care and 
 toil of the last ten year^ had given her. 
 Emmy was but twelve years old, and
 
 EMMY. 27 
 
 troubles sit lightly at that age ; so she 
 went about much as usual, thinking little 
 of her mother's grave warning, except 
 when, after telling her of some walk or 
 talk with Pak, she saw the anxious shade 
 come over her brow. 
 
 On this present evening poor Emmy 
 was full of admiration of her hero, who 
 had acted in so noble a way ; and while 
 she shrunk very much from telling her 
 mother, whose lack of sympathy as to the 
 late adventure she foresaw, yet she felt it 
 must be done. So she gave a glowing 
 description of Pak's prowess and oratory ; 
 and as her mother watched her bright 
 eager face and her eyes flashing in the 
 fire-light, she could not but admire her 
 little daughter, and feel for the moment 
 almost carried away by the child's enthu- 
 siasm. But then came before her the wild 
 ragged figure she had seen from the win-
 
 28 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 dow that summer day, and a look of pain 
 came into the calm face. 
 
 "Why, Emmy, my child," she said, 
 " I should thmk you bewitched, if I were 
 superstitious, to make a hero out of the 
 ragged piece of goods I saw Avith you that 
 apple day. Do you know, I wish the 
 apples had been all left rolling in the mud, 
 or had gone to feast the tag-rags. What 
 would your poor father have said, had he 
 lived to see his little Emmy taking up 
 with the scum of the street in this 
 way?" 
 
 " mother, how cruel you are !" ex- 
 claimed the poor child, her excitement 
 having been instantly changed into a sob- 
 bing fit. " You don't know how noble 
 and clever he is ; he has taught me more 
 than ever I learnt at school, and has 
 made me think of all sorts of wonderful 
 things that I never dreamt of before."
 
 ElVIMY. 29 
 
 Here her sobs were too much for her, 
 and she laid her head down in her mo- 
 ther's lap to have her cry out. It did 
 seem hard that, after her glowing account, 
 and her half-hope that Pak's noble deeds 
 were winning her mother's admiration, 
 she should be so cruel as to call him " the 
 scum of the street." And this from one 
 who was always so good and kind, and 
 whom she so thoroughly loved. But then 
 she loved him too ; so what could she do ? 
 
 It was the little maiden's first difficulty; 
 and as she lay there against her mother's 
 knee, her tears having ceased at last, and 
 her great eyes gazing dreamily into the 
 fire, it first struck her that it was a weary 
 world. The mother was gently putting 
 back the curls from the wet cheeks, and 
 looking lovingly on the little flower at 
 her feet, all the prettier for this April 
 shower.
 
 30 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 There they sat on in silence, till the 
 blazino' loo-s had turned to white ashes, 
 and a bright spot in the crimson curtain 
 showed the " parish lantern " without. 
 Then with a little shiver Emmy got up, 
 gave her mother a hug, and went off to 
 bed, to sleep undisturbed by the memory 
 of even this day's occurrences. 
 
 Mrs. Benson sat on, regardless of the 
 cold, thinking what she ought to do for 
 her fatherless girl. 
 
 how she now missed that clear head 
 and ready judgment on which, in the diffi- 
 culties of her younger life, she had relied ! 
 But Mrs. Benson, though she might not 
 be an esjDecially wise woman, was a tho- 
 roughly good one ; and to simple good 
 people often comes that which wise people 
 attain with more difficulty, and grasp with 
 less firmness. So after thinking long and 
 praying earnestly, in the solitude of her
 
 EMMY. 31 
 
 little kitchen, she seemed to see things 
 better at last. It came over her that it 
 would be best to leave this matter alone ; 
 that it was possible this friendship of 
 Emmy's might, in some mysterious way, 
 be for her good. At any rate, so far it 
 had done her no harm, for she was more 
 bright and affectionate than ever, and cer- 
 tainly of late had spoken of things which, 
 for so young a child, had struck her 
 mother as surprising. For the rest, she 
 must trust and watch ; she could not be- 
 lieve that any harm would be allowed to 
 come near her darling without some warn- 
 ing being given to herself. 
 
 A happy tranquil feehng came down 
 on her troubled mind, when she had ar- 
 rived at this conclusion. The calm peace- 
 ful moon was silvering the white clouds 
 above and the still stream beneath. It 
 was a scene to make the doubting trustful;
 
 32 
 
 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 and it made the trustful certain. " No 
 harm, no harm," was "borne in" upon her 
 mind ; and so, with a thankful heart, she 
 stole softly upstairs, and fell asleep by the 
 side of her treasure.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PARADISE-PLACE. 
 
 N the rise between the town and 
 Overton, before the villa dis- 
 trict begun, a narrow lane led 
 up on the right of the main-road to the 
 second in height of the grassy slopes 
 which formed the south cliff. The banks 
 of the lane were deep, and wholly un- 
 trimmed by any highway surveyor. In 
 consequence, the straggling growth of 
 thorn, and maple, and wild clematis, had 
 in some parts bowered over at the top, 
 and the lines of limestone strata in the 
 banks reflected from their moist portions 
 a weird and uncertain light. Tradition 
 connected this lane with various not al- 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 34 KETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 together " canny" events ; the earliest of 
 these being the rough doings of a certain 
 j)iratical "Beardy," who was supposed, in 
 some unnamed "short hours" of date, to 
 have dwelt in a castle-like heap of rocks 
 on the chfF-terrace. In accordance with 
 numerous precedents m various parts of 
 the countrjT-, this sunken road was known 
 as " Cut-throat -lane." The more polished, 
 however, of the Xether- and Overtonians, 
 shrinking from so ill-sounding an appella- 
 tion, knew it as Southcliff-lane ; and as 
 such it will appear in the ensuing narra- 
 tive. 
 
 As soon as the said lane emero;es from 
 the defile, and the traveller finds himself 
 on the corner of the cliff-terrace, he sees 
 to the right an enclosure, containmg a 
 ruinous cabbage-garden, and a row of three 
 very uninvitmg brick cottages, built city- 
 fashion, under one roof. This had been
 
 PAEADISE-PLACE. 35 
 
 in simpler times the coast-guard station ; 
 but was now deserted for a better building, 
 and a more commodious position, nearer 
 the beach, and under the north cliff. The 
 abandoned station followed another prece- 
 dent, amply established in the nammg of 
 any unusually dreary and forlorn blocks of 
 houses, and was known as "Paradise- 
 place." It was now let by the Govern- 
 ment for cottages, of which laundresses 
 were the usual tenants. 
 
 The farthest of these from the lane, 
 and most advanced towards the sea, was 
 inhabited by Mrs. Podger, a jolly Somerset- 
 shire widow, of the vocation just men- 
 tioned. Her husband had been a tailor, 
 who had in some season of distress mi- 
 grated from the cloth districts of that 
 county, to seek his better fortune at 
 Netherton. He had obtained the contract 
 to clothe the coastguard ; and so, when his
 
 36 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 last button -hole was overcast, Podger 
 veuve had been put, on easy terms, hito 
 No. 3 Paradise-place. There she found 
 a house with more rooms than she and her 
 family, and even her business, stood in 
 need of; and so, after some little delay, 
 she at last faced the chaff of the neigh- 
 bours, and made the rhyme of "Podger" 
 and "lodger" represent a fact. 
 
 The person who answered Mrs. Podger's 
 notice, which the captain of the coastguard 
 had written for her, and she had attached 
 with pms to a gate-post at the corner 
 where the lane met the high-road, was 
 no other than our former acquaintance, 
 " Tiffy." 
 
 At his first appearance, he is reported 
 to have sent the good lady's arms instantly 
 into the "akimbo" position, and her feet 
 to that particular distance from each other, 
 the combined effect of which posture is as
 
 PARADISE-PLACE. 37 
 
 much as to say very decisively, " You don't 
 ■enter here." But the strange figure is 
 said to have produced something from its 
 pockets, after the exhibition of which Mrs. 
 Podger was immediately seen to wipe the 
 dust from a chair with her apron. And 
 the result was, then and there, that the 
 applicant was aj)pointed to the office to 
 which he aspired ; and was installed, bag 
 and baggage, in the ample garret of 
 No. 3. 
 
 Amons: that bao' and bao-ojao-e were 
 some curious and some mysterious things. 
 From the occurrence of two or three tele- 
 scopes, certain well-soiled mahogany boxes, 
 brass-bound, were interpreted b}^ the Ne- 
 thertonians to contain " sextants, and such- 
 like." It is true, that no two characters 
 could well be more different than the new 
 lodger was from a seafaring man. But it 
 evidently appeared that the poor gentle-
 
 38 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 man was somewhat off his head ; and who 
 could tell hoT\' much difference that might 
 have made ? 
 
 To all Mrs. Podger's inquiries, "What 
 name shall I saj, sir ?" he muttered some- 
 thins: about "the scientific line." 
 
 " Do sim t' I," she said one day to 
 Captain Davis of the coastguard, "that 
 the gen'l'man's bin furr'd off of a rayilway 
 train." 
 
 " Well, no, mum," replied the Captain ; 
 "I've known many in this line and that, 
 and I tried it on that way ; it might be 
 some new trade, or some old one called 
 by these new proprietairy names ; but I 
 couldn't hit it anyhow. But I have my 
 thoughts, mum, I have my thoughts." 
 
 " And, making so bold, what be um, sir?" 
 
 " Well, you see, we seamen always call 
 the Equator the line, — that, I mean, as you 
 couldn't go to the Indies in the good old
 
 PAKADISE-PLACE. 39 
 
 sailing - days without crossing ; and my 
 notion is that he's been there, where, mum, 
 the sun blazes do'wn ri2:ht straio:ht over the 
 top of your head, and he's gotten a sun- 
 stroke, a cul-de-sac^ as the Musseers used 
 to say." 
 
 " Maybe, sir," replied the widow ; 
 "you scolards be always so turble clever. 
 But do ee ple-ase to tell I, being as how 
 he won't give no ne-ame, what be I to 
 call un?" 
 
 The Captain tightened with his finger 
 the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe, re- 
 placed that pipe in his mouth, drew a long 
 whiff, and gazed out to sea for nearly a 
 minute, while Mrs. Podger vras soapmg 
 some linen on the edge of her tub. 
 
 At last he suddenly exclaimed, " I have 
 it, mum ; I have it all, as pat as if I were, 
 his godfather. Scientific, did you say, 
 mum? That's how I'll get it, mum. There
 
 40 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 was a poor messmate of mine, whose name 
 was Stephen, — Stephen what, I suppose I 
 never knew, or took care to forget ; but to 
 his last day, we always called him Tiify. 
 Now, mum, though scientific is not Stephen, 
 TiiFy is Tiffy, and it's in 'em both. So 
 suppose we call this queer chap TiiFy." 
 
 Drowning folks catch at straws. A 
 lodger mthout a name would never do, 
 and no name could be got out of the 
 owner ; so " TiiFy" from that time has 
 been his name. When he first heard of it, 
 amiounced by the good woman in a floun- 
 dering oration of her best Doric, he seemed 
 rather pleased than not ; why, did not 
 appear. But it might have been be- 
 cause his letters, which he always fetched 
 from the post-oifice, were addressed J. T. ; 
 and it may have pleased him that his 
 assumed initials suited his Netherton nick- 
 name.
 
 PAEADISE-PLACE. 41 
 
 Yarious were the surmises of those not 
 in the secret. Those who wished to ignore 
 a mystery, or to be polite to him, called 
 him Mr. Tiffin ; but it wouldn't go down ; 
 the Netherton people and, above all, the 
 Netherton boys would have nothing but 
 
 Tiffy. 
 
 Tiffy's den— the " Paradiso Tifi," as he 
 loved to call it — was as curious a place 
 as could be found within the four seas. 
 The capabihties were not great, to begin 
 with. Perhaps no room that could be 
 mentioned is less interesting than the top 
 story of a mean brick-built cottage. Nor 
 was this any exception to the general rule. 
 First of all, a stau* without a case led up 
 to the level without a landing. Then, the 
 very slender rafters were simply under- 
 drawn and whitewashed. The former 
 tenent, for his coastguarding purposes, had 
 been provided with two windows looking
 
 42 KETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 west, straight out to sea, and one looking 
 south, commanding the grassy terrace and 
 the beach beneath. Sea and sky there was 
 enough, and this had captivated the eye of 
 "Mr. Tiffin" when in search of a lodgings 
 He had, before man}' days were over, 
 called in the help of a carpenter to fix a 
 telescope at the south window with the 
 minutest accurac}' ; the worthy joiner, and 
 the whole Podo-er lot, wonderino' where the 
 gentleman's wits were gone, that he didn't 
 keep his glass movable, so as to point it at 
 his object, like other people. 
 
 By the time the room was quite in 
 order, it was filled on every available 
 bit of floor, as well as on chairs and tables, 
 with all manner of scientific apparatus, 
 telling rather of the past than of the 
 present ; for it would have puzzled a Dol- 
 lond to have put one-half of the instru- 
 ments to any use. In the nearest corner.
 
 PAEADISE-PLACE. 43 
 
 where the roof sloped to within less than 
 four feet of the floor, was the wooden 
 stump - bedstead ; and near the fireplace 
 stood the only arm-chair, rush - bottomed 
 like the rest, and attended upon by an 
 old round three - clawed talkie. This, of 
 whatever wood it had originally been 
 made, was now polished brown and bright 
 with use. One thing was remarkable : 
 that every article in the room, as well as 
 the room itself, was scrupulously clean, 
 and, as far as such a multum in parvo 
 would allow, set square and neat. Another 
 thing to be noted was, that Mrs. Podger's 
 cat soon showed her preference for the 
 quiet studious fireside up -stairs over the 
 busthng and, if such a word may be 
 coined, sudiou^ one below. 
 
 The tenancy of the Paradiso Tifi had 
 another noticeable feature. In constant 
 companionship with the hermit of the
 
 44 NETIIEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 upj)er chamber was to be seen a youthful 
 figure, whose accessories were strangely in 
 contrast with the spick-and-span order of 
 the room. It was, in fact, none other than 
 that of the before - mentioned hero of the 
 brick-field and the apple-basket. How it 
 came here no one seemed to know ; but 
 it is to be presumed that the resolute 
 Mrs. Podger had not tolerated Pak's bare 
 feet upon her stair without a further dose 
 of persuasive from the braided pocket of 
 the scientific cloak. 
 
 Of the junior members of the Podgery 
 it is hardly to be imagined that they were 
 so entirely under the maternal word of 
 command as to abstain from chaffing such 
 an object. This, however, with certain 
 occasional exceptions, they fairly did ; m 
 fact, the general toleration and even ap- 
 proval of Pak could be accounted for only 
 on the h3^othesis that the lad had in
 
 PAEADISE-PLACE. 45 
 
 some way made himself acceptable to 
 them. 
 
 A strange youth this ; captivating 
 young ladies down in the to^vn ; somehow 
 found necessary to the queer shy philo- 
 sopher of Paradise - place ; welcome, even 
 in rags and dirt, to the widow professor 
 of clean linen ; and popular on his own 
 account with the rough lot who called 
 that widow mother. As to the account 
 to be given of his original connection mth 
 the philosopher, no one seemed to know 
 anvthino- about it. The two had turned 
 up at Xetherton about the same time ; 
 but no narrative of their arrival was ex- 
 tant. The inference generally drawn was, 
 that they had travelled thither in some 
 different garb from that in which they 
 now appeared, — coming, say, by a night- 
 train, and, for some reason unknown, 
 changing their apparel afterwards. Still,
 
 46 NETHEnTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 even thus the present status of the two 
 seemed harcll}^, on any ordinary human 
 probabilities, accounted for. Had the elder 
 one any control over the younger ? If 
 so, how can we suppose that he would 
 have consigned his jwtege to dirt and 
 rao's ? Or was this otherwise ? Then if 
 so, was it likely that a bright clever boy 
 would have voluntarily endured the change 
 to his present degraded position ? Any- 
 how, it was a stiff puzzle ; and many a 
 tea-table in Netherton, and even in Over- 
 ton, had witnessed its discussion. 
 
 "Pak," the name by which the said 
 ragged boy was known, represented a 
 longer appellation, which the philosopher 
 seemed to have brought with him. It 
 was, in fact, of his own invention, and 
 originated with the circumstances, what- 
 ever those were, which had brought the 
 pair to Netherton. Other coincidences
 
 PARADISE-PLACE. 47 
 
 may have combined to suggest the name ; 
 but certam it is that the boy's indomitable 
 pluck, and habitual insensibility to priva- 
 tion and pain, reminded his friend of that 
 tribe of animals endowed with an impene- 
 trable hide, and led him to choose for the 
 boy, out of his scientific vocabulary, the 
 sobriquet of "Pachyderm" — the thick- 
 skinned. 
 
 And well, indeed, did he deserve it. 
 There seemed to be no danger into which 
 he could not cast himself, and none out 
 of which he did not come unscathed. 
 Many a small boy had owed to him his 
 escape from bullying at the hands of the 
 town -roughs. And even by those who 
 had at first begun to persecute this inter- 
 fering stranger, he was now held in re- 
 spect. For one day, when a poor little 
 urchin of their own order had fillen from 
 the end of the jetty into the sea, Pak,
 
 48 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 "without a moment's hesitation, had taken 
 a "header" after him, and, holding him 
 above water with one hand, had swum 
 with the other till a boat took them in. 
 On that occasion he had been borne, 
 dripping as he was, on the shoulders of 
 a lot of hurrahing young scamps, up Quay- 
 street and through Evenborough, to the 
 amazement of his scientific friend, who 
 met the noisy procession on his daily 
 route to the post-office. But more is to 
 be said about this anomalous creature, as 
 he coexisted with the philosoj^her in the 
 Paradiso Tifi. 
 
 At the back of the house, accessible 
 from the lane through the garden, might 
 be seen a small lean-to shed, originally 
 built for coals. But coals enough for a 
 coastguard family were not coals enough 
 for the consumption required in Mrs. 
 Podger's business ; so she had got a much
 
 PAKADISE-PLACE. 49' 
 
 larger lean-to roof attached to the end 
 gable of the house under the south 
 window, and the little shed was dis- 
 used. 
 
 Here then, partly the boy's o^vn clever 
 hands, and partly those of his eccentric 
 friend, aided by Podger volunteers, had 
 prepared him a sort of kennel, where, on 
 a shake-do'svn of soft straw, he turned in, 
 when he did turn in, of nights. As to 
 food, he was not seldom to be seen shar- 
 ing the tea-table m the garret, and even 
 sometimes sitting as an accepted guest in 
 Mrs. Podger's chimney - corner ; but with 
 these exceptions, his eating seemed to be 
 of a piece with his other habits, and to 
 o"\vn no reo:ular course. A certain lars^e 
 hole in the wall, behind the straw -pallet 
 in the shed, commonly held a loaf of 
 bread, and sometimes a wedge of cheese. 
 These were replenished, as often as need 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 ^0 
 
 NETHERTON-OX-SEA. 
 
 required, from the town ; and some inge- 
 nuity had been shown in defending the 
 hole from dogs, cats, and small vermin, 
 by the bottom of a wire- sieve being hung 
 on a nail over the hole, and tied by a 
 strms; to another nail below. This Avas 
 Pak's only pantry, and the pump his onh* 
 cellar. A curious and characteristic life ; 
 hardly one which could be meant to last ; 
 hardly a decadence simply from something 
 better ; but perhaps a weird parenthesis — 
 a trial necessitated b}^ some contingenc}', 
 and leadins; on to somethino- other than 
 itself; who knew? The philosopher, per- 
 haps ; and he so far gave sign of such 
 cognisance, in that he had named Pak's 
 coal-shed " II Purgatorio." 
 
 What passed when they were together, 
 as it baffled all else to say, so it went 
 quite beyond ^Irs. Podger and her famil}\ 
 It was the boy's habit to remain up-stairs
 
 PARADISE-PLACE. 51 
 
 quite late at night ; indeed, none knew 
 how late ; for he retired to bed by letting 
 himself down from the south Avindow on 
 the top of the larger coal -shed. Those 
 who slept below testified to hearing what 
 steps were to be heard at night principally 
 about that window. But the movements 
 were few and far between ; and as Tilfy 
 wore soft slippers, and Pak needed none, 
 those few were but indistinctly audible. 
 "What Avords were heard were wholly out 
 of comprehension. Those who " did" the 
 room in the morning always found the 
 desk near the fixed telescope locked. Once 
 only had a scrap of paper covered with 
 figures been picked up on the floor, and 
 carried off triumphantly by Amy Podger, 
 who acted as house-servant to her mother. 
 By her it was duly exhibited to her friend 
 Captain Davis, who deposed to having 
 seen something like it on board ship, but
 
 52 NETHEBTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 having been then as much puzzled as he 
 was now. It seemed to him, he said, 
 that whatever the figures were, they as 
 put 'em do'wn hadn't had any eddication 
 in rethmatic, or else they'd have known 
 better than to begin their rows of figures 
 with noughts; and he added : 
 
 "In my opinion, mum, it's a poor 
 fond thing ; for that as begins wi' no- 
 thing, why, Ave all know it must end 
 i' nothing ; and then, mum, what's it 
 wuth ?" 
 
 Still, whatever it was that they did, 
 it seemed that " eddication" of some sort 
 was at the bottom of it ; for the boy 
 knew lots of thinji-s that Podo-erdom did 
 not know, and a young Podger who was 
 sneaking under the coal -shed one bright 
 night deposed to having heard something 
 about double stars ! 
 
 Not the least unaccountable circum-
 
 PAEADISE-PLACE. 53 
 
 stance about the strange pair was, that 
 they had never been known to enter 
 church or meetinjr. 
 
 "What do 'em worship when they do 
 sahey they prahyers, I wonder ?" said 
 Mrs, Pod O'er one Sunday morning. 
 
 "Why, the stars, mother, I suppose," 
 answered Amy, who was just wishing the 
 reflection of her best bonnet good-bye as 
 
 she turned from the looking; - o-lass over 
 the mantelpiece. 
 
 " Did ee ever hear 'em prahying ?" 
 asked her mother. 
 
 " Can't say as ever I did ; but what 
 the wonder makes 'em bide at that winder 
 half the night, and it open as wide as a 
 death o' cold ? Wasn't that just what Dan'l 
 did, when he prayed in spite of the Par- 
 lyment, cause he seed Juslm in the dis- 
 tance ?" 
 
 " Well blundered, Amy !" cried Tom,
 
 54 KETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 a big youth from the Overton national 
 school. " Then I suppose you think they're 
 Jews ?" 
 
 "That I knows they bean't," rejoined 
 the widow ; " for Jews don't eat no poke ; 
 an' I know that when they killed their 
 pig next door, it fed 'em both for a month, 
 in and out." 
 
 " Then they be Turks, or else heriy- 
 ticks," said Amy ; " for all as bean't Chris- 
 tians be one or t'other." 
 
 " Deeper and deeper, " cried Tom 
 triumphantly. 
 
 " Thee hould thy tongue," said the 
 mother. — " Amy, why do'sn't thee speak 
 up to 'un ? For all 's I'arning, he can't 
 get-up a shirt : tell 'n that." 
 
 "Law, mother, where's the use o' 't? 
 He don't care for getting - up o' shirts, 
 not he ; an' I don't care for what he can 
 do, that's as good ; and so there's an end
 
 PAEADISE-PLACE. 
 
 55 
 
 o' 't. There's tenor bell, an' I shall be 
 late, an paason '11 noisee." 
 
 And so she clashed out, leaving' peace 
 behind her.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THE SCHOOL. 
 
 iHE graminar-school of Xetlierton- 
 on-Sea dated from the days of 
 the town's former and long- 
 2)ast importance. In the far-away reign 
 of King Edward YL, IS'etherton contained 
 about fifteen hundred inhabitants ; and 
 ranked as a considerable country town. 
 In those days, the "late perpendicular" 
 church, built by the grateful Duke of 
 Richmond when he had become Henry YII., 
 was hardly yet mossed over. One ]\Iar- 
 maduke Stubbs, who had somehow made 
 his way to London and risen there to 
 aldermanic dignity, had, out of his afflu- 
 ence, bought the property abutting on the
 
 THE SCHOOL. 57 
 
 west side of the churchyard, and built and 
 endowed (as endowments then were) a 
 grammar-school for the youth of Nether- 
 ton and the neighbouring Overton ; found- 
 ing at the same time a scholarship at 
 Quadham College, Oxford, to be held first 
 by his own kin, and, failing such, at the 
 appointment of the head -master. Having 
 made these and other benefactions to his 
 native place, he bequeathed his body to 
 the chancel, where, with that of Dorothy 
 his wife, it reposes under a poorly-executed 
 late brass. 
 
 The old school-house is a building of 
 venerable gray stone, gorgeous with its 
 secular lichens, and facing on the church- 
 yard with three flat -headed stone -mul- 
 lioned windows, high above the ground. 
 The space in the fa9ade beneath the 
 windows is protected by a colonnade 
 covered with lead, beneath which is an
 
 58 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 arched door, serving for the principal 
 entrance. This colonnade is supported by 
 stone pillars of the Doric order ; and the 
 whole paved space in front is enclosed 
 with a Avail, opening on the churchyard 
 by an old-fashioned iron gate, flanked by 
 two pillars of the period, capped with balls 
 of stone. 
 
 The foundation was free to boys of the 
 two townships ; and such as availed them- 
 selves of this privilege, from bearing the 
 name of "poor scholars" in the foundation 
 deed, were always known as " the scholars." 
 When the new college was built for the 
 sons of the Netherton aristocracy, the dis- 
 tinctive name for its pupils l^ecame " the 
 collegers ;" and many a feud and rivalry, 
 in and beyond cricket and football, existed 
 between the two sets, the " scholars" and 
 the " colleo-ers." 
 
 The present head-master. Dr. Digam,
 
 THE SCHOOL. 59 
 
 had been a "double-first" in his time, and 
 was keeping up well the character of the 
 school. In spite of the ebb-tide of pul)lic 
 opinion, and the adverse reports of Com- 
 missions, it may be doubted whether edu- 
 cation can be much lictter provided for 
 the tradesman-class in country towns than 
 by these old grammar-schools, when the 
 head - master is efficient. There were 
 plenty in Xetherton, it is true, and among 
 them the "cocky" editors of the local 
 journals, who were ready enough to rail 
 at their Alma Mater, and turn against her 
 the little wit Avhich she had contrived to 
 awaken within them ; but the proof of the 
 school was in the pupils ; and now, for 
 some years, the Doctor had contrived to 
 turn out capital scholars at the universi- 
 ties, capital professional men in the law 
 and medicine, capital men of business in 
 the Ketherton and other counting-houses.
 
 CO NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 So that, however the new institution might 
 gain favour from "villadom," it was not 
 likely to supplant the old grammar-school, 
 with its Latin verses, and its speech-day, 
 and its old statutable '"''coram omnibus 
 vapulet^'' in the esteem of the resident 
 citizens of Netherton. Hither the worthy 
 vicar, Mr. Bythesea, had in his youth re- 
 sorted daily from his father's fish-shop, 
 and having got the scholarship, had after- 
 wards become Fellow of Quadham, and had 
 taken, as a college living, the incumbency 
 of his native town. Here the town physi- 
 cian. Dr. Eesp, had won laurels in his time; 
 and the present worthy mayor, Mr. Snixon, 
 had taken the unusual step of passing from 
 the captaincy of the school to serve at his 
 uncle's, the draper's, counter. No wonder 
 such a school should hold its head high 
 in the town, and regard both its reputa- 
 tion and its numbers as perfectly secure
 
 THE SCHOOL. 61 
 
 from "Even-knole (or as the scholars, 
 after a joke of the Doctor's, were fond of 
 calling it, "Even-now") College Limited," 
 and from its very noisy, and not very scru- 
 pulous advocates, the Netlierton Observer 
 and the Netlierton Gazette. 
 
 A school depends for its present cha- 
 racter, whatever may be its historical 
 " goodwill," on the staff who rule it. 
 
 The head-master was a little thin man, 
 with pale, well - chiselled features, and 
 straight dark hair. There was a notable 
 marble smoothness in his high forehead, 
 beneath which looked out a pair of spark- 
 ling dark -hazel eyes. His voice was full 
 and melodious ; when used musically it 
 was an exceedingly fine tenor. He had 
 begun university life as a chorister at 
 Christ Church, and had the reputation of 
 being the best musician in Netlierton. In 
 speaking, his tones were clear, and his
 
 C)2 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 style "was incisive. All his sentences were 
 remarkably well turned and balanced. He 
 always begun his addresses to his boys 
 with " Gentlemen ;" and the rest was in 
 keeping. He spoke to them in a kind of 
 lofty and somewhat euphuistic oratory, and 
 always assumed the highest standard of 
 truth and honour as prevailing among 
 them. 
 
 In punishment he rose to something 
 like majesty ; and no boy was ever known, 
 who did not care more for the Doctor's 
 severity of word and manner than for the 
 stinaino; of the birch-buds. The latter was 
 a thing to be manfully endured, and cost 
 only the bite of a lip, or the mark of the 
 nails in the palm of the hand ; but the 
 other pierced to the very soul. Many, 
 who are now great stalwart men, can re- 
 member that even the Doctor's condescen- 
 sion, and the measured ring of his joke.
 
 THE SCHOOL. 
 
 63 
 
 used to unnerve them so completely, that 
 what silly answer they would make seemed 
 entirely beyond their own control. 
 
 To his under masters, he was, before 
 the boys, and indeed, when more than one 
 of them were present, courteous, and even 
 deferential ; the inexperienced would ima- 
 gine that the " sub" led the way in talk, 
 and the Doctor followed. But a little ex- 
 perience showed that the Doctor's lead was 
 never abandoned, nor was the sub's freedom 
 real ; and as those who conceal most 
 usually reveal most, the sixth-form boys 
 often used to watch with cleli2:ht the modu- 
 lations of the Doctor's voice, and the pecu- 
 liar leer of his eye, prophetic of far other 
 tones and looks when he and his inter- 
 locutor should be alone. " ]\Iy, won't 
 Timins catch it !" was sometimes heard, 
 when all seemed smoothest and most 
 friendly. But vrith all this, Dr. Digam
 
 64 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 was a thoroughly generous - hearted and 
 kind man. The dullest boy in the school 
 (and ostensibly he hated dull boys), when 
 in trouble, ever found in him an unwearied 
 protector and a self-denying friend. Hardly 
 a week passed but some of his former 
 under masters or scholars, struggling up 
 and down in the world, received help from 
 his liberal hand. He was an illustration 
 of what is often found true, and the index 
 to a good many more truths, — that some 
 men are too good to be perfect. Had Dr. 
 Digam had less heart, he would have been 
 a better schoolmaster ; had he not been 
 a schoolmaster, he would have been a 
 philanthropist. But the two crossed one 
 another, and turned the mixture sour. 
 
 Mr. Timins, the second master, was 
 considerably over the average size of men, 
 both in breadth and leno-th. With clothes 
 and cheeks well filled, and a great scarcity
 
 THE SCHOOL. 65 
 
 of colour in his complexion, he belonged 
 to that class of human beings in whose 
 composition not the dust of the earth 
 seems to have been used, but, as a Cornish 
 man would say, " Carclaze clay," or, as 
 other men might suggest, mashed potatoes. 
 One word only would express his physical 
 and spiritual characteristics, and that word 
 is, "milk." He was a huge gentle crea- 
 ture, who could bowl over, and sometimes, 
 in his gawky frolic, did bowl over, the 
 biggest boy in the school with a mere 
 push of his hand ; and this physical supe- 
 riority insured him the objective re-spect 
 of the school, while his unvarying kind- 
 ness to little and big was a warrant for 
 his popularity. 
 
 His teaching was always up to a cer- 
 tain respectable mark, and that average 
 was almost without exception reached by 
 the fifth form, his esjjecial care ; so that 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 66 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 the Doctor could pretty accurately calculate 
 on the raw material sent up mto the sixth. 
 
 As might be expected, his manner 
 towards his class was usually placid and 
 kind. He was fond of deviating into 
 little illustrations and bits of collateral 
 history, with a decided leaning to such 
 as verged on the quietly humorous. 
 
 Now and then the mass of calm was 
 deeply stirred. On one occasion the class 
 were reading the grand thunderstorm pass- 
 age in the first Georgic, — 
 
 " Ipse Pater, media uimboriun in nocte, corusca 
 Fulmina molitur dextra," &c., — 
 
 Deep in the midnight of the tempest clouds, 
 Th' Almighty Father with His own right hand 
 Forges the thunder, — 
 
 when he saw two fellows giggling. To 
 the utter amazement of all, he called out, 
 in a voice half an octave below his usual 
 tone, " Good heavens, boys ! don't you 
 know you are in the presence of God ?"
 
 THE SCHOOL. 67 
 
 After such a description, none will be 
 surprised to hear that Mr. Timins, with 
 the hardest labour, maintained a widowed 
 mother and two sisters, who lived with 
 him, filling up the scanty chinks of his 
 leisure from school - work by writing no- 
 tices of books in mao-azines and reviews. 
 
 There hardly could be a greater con- 
 trast to Mr. Timins than was furnished 
 by the mathematical master, Mr. Heckswy. 
 He was a small wiry person, with jet-black 
 hair and eyebrows, and an anxious restless 
 look, as if he never slept. It was reported 
 that his queer - sounding name had once 
 been otherwise spelt, — in fact, that it was 
 of foreign origin, and had originally ter- 
 minated with that odd combination of c 
 and z and w and y which an English 
 mouth can enounce only by sneezing. 
 Thus the coal-black hair and eyes would 
 be also accounted for. It was again by
 
 68 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 others viewed as an odd coincidence that 
 the name, especially as pronounced by the 
 lower orders, had an unmistakable rela- 
 tion to the mystic letters so much used 
 in algebraic processes ; and a very com- 
 mon idea among the boys was, that 
 Mr. Heckswy had been so named from 
 his connection with ^'s and y's. Another 
 " persuasion " assigned to him some ro- 
 mantic origin and position in his ante- 
 Nethertonian existence. As usual, both 
 parties were right, and both were wrong, 
 in these suppositions. At all events, while 
 Mr. Heckswy betrayed in his talk no token 
 of a foreign origin, on the other side 
 might be ranged the fact of his familiarity 
 "with the use and the hterature of modern 
 lano:ua2:es. 
 
 In his zeal for all branches of mathe- 
 matical science, Mr. Heckswy was an en- 
 thusiast. Nor was his enthusiasm bounded
 
 THE SCHOOL. 69 
 
 by these limits. The study of history, 
 especially with reference to the develop- 
 ment of Hberty, was his unending delight ; 
 and by his quick and restless discourse, 
 he was evermore brino;ino; into notice his 
 far-reaching views and fervid aspirations. 
 
 The boys were very like those of any 
 other grammar-school — no better, and cer- 
 tainly no worse ; for the high bearing 
 and unreserved confidence of Dr. Digam 
 had spread its influence down to the 
 smallest urchin who had been a month in 
 the school. The adage, "Boys is boys," 
 was abundantly exemplified at Netherton ; 
 but the Doctor's assumption in addressing 
 them was well borne out. No Nether- 
 tonian could say that it was a common 
 thing to doubt the word of a " scholar." 
 
 r\^
 
 ^:- 
 
 , iT-CA^rP' 
 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 " BONES." 
 
 ;AY had come round, witli its 
 delights and its disappoint- 
 ments. Xot the traditional 
 May to which imagination cHngs, all sun- 
 shine and poetry ; but a month with 
 many days in it to make glad the heart 
 of man, despite the cold and cloudy in- 
 tervals which separated them. 
 
 Happily for Pak and Emmy, a certain 
 Saturday in this month was one of those 
 perfect spring days, which make an ordi- 
 nary hohday rank among the bright events 
 of life. Emmy's feet seemed scarcely to 
 feel the ground as she tripped along.
 
 ei 
 
 BONES." 71 
 
 basket on arm, through the sunny town 
 to her trysting-place. Stolen waters are 
 sweet; but this tryst was sweet without 
 being stolen. The afternoon's outing was 
 Mrs. Benson's own arrangement. Emmy's 
 cheeks were looking pale for want of 
 country walks; and her mother was busy 
 now, and could not spare the time to 
 take her out. So when there was a talk 
 of going to get flowers with Pak, and the 
 little maid naively insinuated that he had 
 learnt their names and would teach her, 
 her mother told her to put on her things, 
 packed up in the aforesaid basket the 
 favourite dripping-cake which she, " care- 
 ful soul," had with prophetic instinct made, 
 arranged, with an old newspaper, a soft 
 bed for a bottle of milk beside it, and 
 sent Emmy oiF to have her "tea" on the 
 cliffs. 
 
 The place of meeting was the entrance
 
 72 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 of South Cliff-lane. For somehow Pak was 
 beginning to feel out of place in walking 
 through the streets with her in his ragged 
 clothes; and it may be that the bright 
 spring weather had some share in bring- 
 ing this about. However this might be, 
 he had appointed to meet her here; and 
 here waiting for her she found him. He 
 had done what he could to get himself up 
 for the occasion; had tugged away with 
 a comb, or with something, at his tangled 
 hair to reduce it into order, and had 
 scrubbed his comely face at his pump till 
 it glowed rosy red. As for his garments, 
 they were but fragmentary, do what he 
 would; but for all that Emmy looked at 
 him with undisguised pleasure when she 
 came upon him at the turning of the road. 
 Certain little courtesies passed as they 
 went up the bowery lane, under the banks 
 gay with stellaria, cam25ion, and hyacinth.
 
 <( 
 
 BONES." 73 
 
 Pak had soon to climb up their steep 
 sides to gather for his companion the cun- 
 ning blue-bells, which were hanging from 
 their curving stems most provokingly just 
 among the thorny bushes, defiant of any 
 but scratch-proof hands. 
 
 Emmy was as merry as a bird, and 
 called laughingly to him to leave the rest 
 of the flowers for next time, and come 
 and give her a lesson about their names. 
 
 " I^ow what do you call this pretty 
 little blue flower, please, master?" she said, 
 looking up at him with a roguish smile. 
 
 " That," said he, " is Germander Speed- 
 well ; rather a long name, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Long enough, and ugly too. I shall 
 call it Bird's-eye, as I did before; and I 
 suppose you will call this something just 
 as ugly?" holding up another paler blue 
 flower, of which she had a large sprink- 
 ling in her nosegay.
 
 74 NETHEKTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " Yes," said lie, with a comical twinkle 
 in his eyes; "that, my fair scholar, is by 
 the wise known as Myosotis Palustris." 
 
 " Then," laughed out Emmy, " your 
 fair scholar must be among the fools, for 
 she won't learn any more such frightful 
 long words. If you had called it by its 
 own pretty name, she would have given 
 you some for your coat." 
 
 She held up a tempting little bunch, 
 which he tried rather awkwardly to fix in 
 his ragged button-hole, saying they should 
 be alwaj's forget-me-nots to him ; upon 
 which Emmy pinned it m for him securely, 
 and then asked him to tell her something 
 about flowers which she could understand. 
 And a very attentive interested listener she 
 became as he explained to her, strange to 
 sav, how that plants are divided into 
 classes and families, as human beings are; 
 stopping now and then to pull to pieces
 
 (( 
 
 BONES." 75 
 
 some gay martyr to science, to show her 
 the distinctive parts. 
 
 Most improbable all this to pass be- 
 tween a rao-o-ed Arab of the streets and 
 a little humble schoolgirl: but so it was; 
 and after all there is but one limit to the 
 improbability. Given the strange lad, love 
 would any day provide the listener. 
 
 And so they loitered through the 
 shaded lane, till the flecks of sunhght be- 
 came pools, and the pools ran into a 
 shadowless expanse. They were on the 
 corner of the grassy terrace, close upon 
 Mrs. Podger's domain ; and they paused 
 to look back upon the busy town, which 
 seemed to sleep peacefully under its brood- 
 ing smoke, which lay over it in a soft 
 blue haze, backed by the undulating 
 hills. 
 
 "I always fancy," said Emmy, "that 
 there is a hazy light and an idle feel about
 
 76 
 
 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 Saturday afternoons, as if all the world 
 were having a holiday." 
 
 "And yet," said Pak, "it's just the 
 most busy of all times to many folks. Isn't 
 it odd to think what a bustle there really 
 is down in that sleepy-looking town?" 
 
 " Yes ; and our scrap of a cottage must 
 be there somewhere, and mother with her 
 dress tucked up cleaning the kitchen, and 
 making everything bright for to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 Here her companion seemed to be con- 
 templating some object far out at sea ; 
 for he turned his head from the to"svTi, 
 at which both had been looking, and with 
 it, apparently, his attention likewise. At 
 last, in somewhat of an altered tone, he 
 said, turning only half towards Emmy 
 and measuring his words as if they each 
 cost him an effort, "And why should things 
 be bright to-morrow?"
 
 BONES." 77 
 
 " Why? You must be making fun, 
 Pak. Why, because it's Sunday, to be 
 sure, and no one works; and all put on 
 their best clothes, and we go to chm'ch 
 and to school." 
 
 "But suppose /don't?" 
 
 " Suppose you don't ? What do you 
 mean, Pak ? You go to church some- 
 where, I suppose." 
 
 "Well, I can't say I do." 
 
 " Then you go to chapel ? Mother 
 says we oughtn't to speak evil of the 
 meetingers, for there are some very good 
 people among them." 
 
 "Very likely, Emmy; but I'm not one 
 of them, for I never was in a chapel in 
 my life." 
 
 " Then you never go anywhere of a 
 Sunday ?" 
 
 " No, not in your meaning ; but in 
 my o^^^l, I go where it's good for me to
 
 78 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 go, far better than if I was at church or 
 chapel." 
 
 "And where can that be?" asked the 
 little girl, with wondering eyes. 
 
 "Where, little woman? Why, where 
 should it be, but to the biggest church 
 that ever was seen, with the grandest 
 music and the finest preacher?" 
 
 " Nonsense," said Emmy, " you mean 
 a cathedral, such as I've heard of at 
 Exeter; but I'm sure you don't go there, 
 for its miles and miles off." 
 
 "No, little woman, I don't mean Exeter 
 cathedral. That may be all very fine, but 
 mine's finer." 
 
 "Why, then, Pak, what do you mean? 
 I'm a dull little soul, and never get under 
 your fine talk." 
 
 " Isn't there a cathedral where the vault 
 is the blue sky, and the music the winds and 
 waves, and the preacher He that made them?"
 
 BONES." 79 
 
 But this was out of Emmy's reach — 
 above her, or, perhaps, she above it. So 
 she looked on the ground, and she pulled 
 to pieces one of her blue hyacinths, and 
 said gently and slowly, "I wish so much 
 you would come to our church. Won't 
 you come to-morrow?" 
 
 " Come to your respectable Netherton 
 church in these rags of mine ?" he an- 
 swered with rather a bitter lauo-h. "I 
 must have a seat to myself, for none of the 
 smart folks that I see fluttering' alona: of 
 a Sunday would sit next a shabby beggar 
 like me." 
 
 " Well, Pak, call yourself what names 
 you like, God made you as well as them; 
 and you ought to go to worship Him as 
 well as they." 
 
 " Maybe ; but I like to worship Him 
 in my own fashion. I can't make out 
 what your church is all about. I have
 
 80 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 before now listened at the door, and it 
 all seems to me gibberish, or something 
 like it." 
 
 Emmy's eyes filled with tears. They 
 were sitting on a piece of moss-covered 
 hmestone, with sea and land peacefully 
 spread below. He wondered what kept 
 his companion silent so long. She had 
 raised her eyes and fixed them in an 
 earnest wistful gaze on the distant hills. 
 At last she said, " Pak, I have been doing 
 something, I fear, very foolish. But it 
 has brought a thought into my head which 
 I hadn't there before. I am going to 
 give you my Bible, to learn for yourself. 
 I know you haven't read it, for you have 
 told me so; and there you will find a 
 great deal about the sea and the stars, 
 and the animals and the flowers, and all 
 that you are so fond of; and there you 
 will find all about our worship, that seems
 
 (( 
 
 BONES." 81 
 
 such gibberish to you, and a great many 
 beautiful and blessed things that I can't 
 explain, and never could. You must come 
 and have tea with us to - morrow, and 
 then you can take it away with you. Will 
 you have it, and read it, Pak?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied. It was all he could 
 say just then. The true httle woman's 
 tears, and her unexpected eager tone, had 
 stirred within hun that which forbids 
 words. 
 
 So no more was said. They got up, 
 and, turnmg away from the terrace, went 
 off to the right, past the outer fences of 
 Podgerdom, seaward, to the edge of the cliff, 
 where a narrow footpath led up to its 
 highest point. When at last that summit 
 was gained, they seated themselves on the 
 brink, with their feet hanging over it. 
 The rock was not quite precipitous, but 
 had little juttings-out of limestone here 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 and there, vnth stunted bushes or tufts 
 of the white Cochlearia chnging to them. 
 It might have been possible to scale 
 its face by means of these rocky projec- 
 tions. 
 
 The Netherton chimes were playing 
 " The last rose of summer" as the two 
 seated themselves on the top; a sign that 
 it was six o'clock, and tea-time. So Emmy 
 began with great dehght to spread the 
 little white cloth in which her cake was 
 wrapped on the close - nibbled turf at 
 her side, and set thereon the dripping- 
 cake and the bottle of milk, together with 
 two small mugs, to which Pak added, 
 with much mock ceremony, his clasp-knife, 
 venerable and much battered, to do the 
 carvinsf. The mistress of the table then 
 emptied the milk into the mugs, and filled 
 her bottle mth her choice bouquet of 
 wild -flowers. All being ready, she sum-
 
 (( 
 
 BONES." 83 
 
 moned her companion, who had started 
 up and was peering about over the face 
 of the cliff. As he obeyed her summons 
 he still looked back over his shoulder to 
 the spot he had left. 
 
 " I thoucrht I heard a moaninoj sound 
 half-way down the cliff yonder ; but I 
 can't see anything for all my peering, so 
 it must have been my fancy. Why, what 
 a fairy feast you have got for me!" he 
 said, throwing himself do-\vn by the side 
 of the extempore tea-table. 
 
 As they enjoyed their meal, " This 
 reminds me," said Pak, " of the story of 
 Beauty and the Beast which I told you 
 the other day. I make a first-rate Beast 
 •\vith my shaggy and tangled mane. Only 
 think, if I should turn out a prince in 
 diso-uise, wouldn't that be a lark ?" 
 
 " You may turn out a prince if you 
 like," said Emmy ; " but you are not a
 
 84 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 bit like the beast you described when 
 you told me the story. He had a horrid 
 gruff voice, and you speak more pleasantly 
 than anyone I ever heard. I wonder some- 
 times, Pak, how you come to look and 
 speak so differently from those rough boys 
 you call companions. You are as unlike 
 them as can be, for all your ragged 
 clothes." 
 
 Pak smiled pleasantly, for Emmy's 
 praise tickled him. Then he looked out 
 for an instant to sea, and said with a 
 puzzled air : 
 
 "I have often wondered about the 
 same matter myself, Emmy ; for what 
 you say is quite true. I am different ; I 
 feel it ; yet I can't for the life of me think 
 why. I daresay Tiffy's teaching has some- 
 thing to do with it ; for he is every inch 
 a gentleman, I'm sure, for all his queer 
 ways."
 
 <( 
 
 BONES." 85 
 
 " How did you come to know him ? 
 You never told me that." 
 
 " Well, I hardly know myself. It was 
 a long time ago, when I was quite a little 
 chap. The first I remember of him was 
 meeting him out in the wood one day 
 when I was toddling about by myself, at 
 the time I hved in the country with poor 
 Sally and her husband, as I once told 
 you." 
 
 " Ah, Sally was kmd to you when you 
 were a baby -boy. But she wasn't your 
 mother, was she ?" 
 
 " no, she was no relation. I suppose 
 she took pity on me when I was a poor 
 little mortal not able to help myself. I 
 don't know where she fomid me — under 
 the hedge, perhaps : she always shook her 
 head when I asked her. But she was 
 very good to me, and tried to prevent 
 her tipsy husband from knocking me about ;
 
 86 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 but it was no good : he used to beat her 
 too, if she tried to keep him off me. So 
 at last I couldn't stand it any longer ; and 
 after he had stripped me and thrashed 
 me till I was sore all over, I ran away 
 one moonlight night just before bedtime." 
 
 " yes ; and you went all through 
 the dark wood, like a brave little fellow 
 as you were, and across the lonely fields, 
 you told me ; and it was lilvc a fairy- 
 story." 
 
 "Then old Tiffy must have been my 
 good sprite ; for I should have slept my 
 last nap under the hedge that cold whiter 
 morning if he hadn't spied me out, and 
 made me trudge along by his side to the 
 town some miles off. I have had a queer 
 life of it since then ; but he has always 
 stood my friend, so I've good cause to be 
 fond of him, haven't I ? and to stick to 
 him, whatever may turn up."
 
 BONES." 87 
 
 " Yes, you have indeed ; and I was 
 so proud of you when you fought for him 
 that day on No-man's Land." 
 
 "Hark!" said Pak suddenly, "there's 
 that moanino- sound ao;am down the chff. 
 What can it be ?" 
 
 He sprang to his feet, and Emmy to 
 hers, as a still more piteous whine came 
 uj) from below. 
 
 " It must be a poor dog," said Pak ; 
 " he must have been pitched over the 
 cliff by some rascal or other, and has 
 stuck half-way. I'll climb down and look 
 after the poor little beggar." 
 
 " 0, but you can't here, it's too steep ; 
 it would make you giddy to try. Let 
 us make haste round to the beach f^ per- 
 haps he's near the bottom." 
 
 " Xo, he isn't half-way down ; I know 
 by the sound. You stay and guard the 
 drop of milk and crust we've left, while
 
 88 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 I fetch him up. He'll be starving, you 
 may depend." 
 
 With a beating heart she did as she 
 was told, placing herself so as likewise 
 to watch Pak's descent as far as she 
 could. It required a steady head to make 
 that descent in safety ; for the cliff in 
 that part was very high and steep, and 
 only scalable by means of the bushy 
 projections we have described. Pak took 
 a sidelong course, guiding himself by the 
 sound, as he dared not look down at 
 first. 
 
 It was a longer journey than he had 
 anticipated ; but on becoming sensible of 
 his approach, as he kept whistling and 
 encouraging the poor creature, it set up 
 a continual yelping and howling, as if to 
 guide him better. And there was gradu- 
 ally a little less of the pitiful, and a tinge 
 of hopefulness, about the sounds as he
 
 " BONES." 89 
 
 ew nearer them, which cheered him, in 
 h.\s turn, on his way. At last they were 
 alinost close ; and guessing that doggie 
 milst be near a clump of thick bushes 
 which he had marked from the top as 
 his probable hiding-place, Pak ventured to 
 look i^ownwards. And there sure enough, 
 close under his feet, was as miserable a 
 specimen of a living creature as you could 
 well imagine. It was a Scotch terrier, 
 with a pretty face of its own, for all its 
 pinched and piteous look. Its hair may 
 once have been curly and becoming ; but 
 now, owing to a night's exposure to rain 
 and wind, it was draggled and hmp. The 
 poor thing was all over of a tremble from 
 faintness, fear, and delight, and tried to 
 prove the latter feeling by wagging his 
 skinny little apology for a tail. Pak posed 
 himself securely against the base of the 
 rock, setting his feet firmly among the
 
 90 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 bushes, and then took up the poor little 
 wretch most tenderly, patted it, and talked 
 to it cheeringiy. 
 
 When he had comforted and warmed 
 it a httle, he took off his own ragged 
 coat, stowed away Emmy's forget-me-nots 
 in a safer place, and, by means of his pin 
 and the buttons, imprisoned master doggie 
 in the same. He then flung his burden 
 on his back, securing it by t}ing the 
 sleeves in front, and cautiously bagan the 
 ascent. 
 
 This was easier than the going 
 down, as he could now see and choose 
 his way ; and before long he and his 
 bundle were safe at the top of the 
 cliff. 
 
 Emmy, who had been watching hun 
 with the greatest anxiety, was of course 
 overcome with delight. She kissed Pak 
 and the dog too, and could hardly keep
 
 BONES." 91 
 
 back tears of gratitude at having him safe 
 again. 
 
 Then, seeinc:: he was no worse for his 
 exploit, she devoted herself to the dog. 
 What remained of their meal was entirely 
 at his service. They made him, nothing 
 loth, drink the nice milk and eat the soft 
 crust Emmy had been soaking for him. 
 After a bit he stopped shaking, and, 
 nestling himself round in Emmy's lap, 
 went fast asleep. His new protectors tried 
 to curl his lank locks, which were of very 
 fine texture, and a pretty dark gray in 
 colour ; and while doing so, they specu- 
 lated as to his probable history, and won- 
 dered what could be his name. 
 
 "He belongs to us now, anyhow," 
 said Pak ; " for whoever had him before 
 wanted to be rid of him, else they wouldn't 
 have starved him first and thrown him 
 down there after."
 
 92 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " Yes ; and I don't think it's much 
 use trying to guess his former name, for 
 even if we should hit it, it would remind 
 him of his cruel master and all he had 
 suffered ; so let's find out quite a new 
 one he never had before." 
 
 " All rio;ht ; and I have a o-ood thouo-ht. 
 Suppose we call him ' Bones' !" 
 
 Emmy laughed such a merry peal at 
 this cjueer name, that poor Bones stirred 
 in his sleep, and gave a lazy wag with 
 his tail, by way, as it seemed, of assent 
 to the proposal. And truly you could 
 think of little else than his name in look- 
 ing at him just now. 
 
 Next arose the question where he should 
 be lodged. 
 
 " I'm afraid mother mightn't like him 
 in her clean kitchen, though I should 
 love to have him," said Emmy, stroking 
 the curly head.
 
 (( 
 
 BONES." 93 
 
 "0, he'd better share my shed," said 
 Pak. — " There's room enough for you and 
 me, Bones ; and you shall have a bit out 
 of my cupboard, old boy, and drink from 
 my pump." 
 
 So it was all settled. He was joint 
 property, but was to lodge with Pak ; 
 and very happy the two were with their 
 new-found friend. 
 
 They sat on, talking of many things 
 which boys and girls can talk about, 
 watching the gulls skimming the waves 
 with their white wings, and the fisher- 
 men's boats, dark specks in the distance, 
 set against the golden sea. For the sun 
 was setting without a cloud, and sea and 
 sky were molten into one in the glowing 
 west. 
 
 The same thought was, perhaps, 
 with a characteristic difference, m both 
 minds. For in turning to go home, Pak
 
 94 NETHEKTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 said, " Will you give me that book to- 
 night, Emmy ? I'll come here and see 
 what's m it to-morrow, and do my church 
 in that way — at all events, till I look more 
 respectable." 
 
 So he took Emmy home, Bones trot- 
 ting behind ; and the two waited outside 
 while she fetched her book. And then 
 they parted. 
 
 Emmy's cup of bliss was full to the 
 brim. She thought she had conquered 
 her lover ; and she found on entering 
 her home that that was not her only 
 victory. 
 
 When Mrs. Benson saw her bright 
 eyes and glowing cheeks, she expressed 
 pleasure that she had let her go, sjDoke 
 more favourably of Pak than she had ever 
 done before, wondered whether he could 
 be induced to spend Sunday evenings with 
 them, and even offered to contribute with
 
 " BONES." 
 
 95 
 
 her owii hands to make him more pre- 
 sentable. 
 
 So the little woman lay awake an hour 
 for her gladness, and then carried it on 
 into her dreams. 
 
 "^^^
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A DIFFERENCE. 
 
 jHERE were great exertions, this 
 summer long, in the Paradiso 
 and the Purgatorio. The queer 
 boyish figure was frequently seated over 
 a desk with compasses and T-squares ; the 
 quaint philosopher was moving backwards 
 and forwards, eager in inspection, abso- 
 lutely recusant of help ; there were fre- 
 quent star-lessons night by night. Some- 
 thing was evidently being devised, and 
 constructed with no ordinary care. But 
 whatever it was, it did not apj^ear to inter- 
 fere with cricket and rounders in " No- 
 man's Land;" nor with frequent rambles
 
 A DIFFERENCE. 97 
 
 over the cliffs in company of Emmy and 
 Bones. Those rambles were the very 
 essence of delight, especially in the sweet 
 airs of spring. Then first, sky and sea 
 seemed to put on colour not borrowed 
 from rise or set of sun — colour of their 
 own, down in the deeps of the water, up 
 in the heights of the ether ; then, week 
 by week, peeped the tender green things 
 out of the rough brown earth, and the 
 yellow bents of the grass became swamped 
 with upbursting verdure ; then first the 
 larks hung in mid-heaven, and the sea- 
 birds sat tranquil on the bed of the ebbing 
 tide. And the young souls drank in 
 beauty, drank in rest, from every sight 
 and sound. 
 
 So went the half- holidays through 
 spring and early summer. The walks, 
 however, were not all enjoyment. The 
 little girl was ever, in her quiet loving 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 KETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 way, j^ressing her point, which Pak loved 
 to evade, or to parry with argument in 
 his crude boyish way. 
 
 And this continual attack and defence 
 was not a Avelcome element in the young 
 courtship. On one or two occasions it 
 had reached a height which was hardly 
 pleasant to remember. Emmy indeed was 
 ever gentle, even in her importunity ; but 
 Pak's temper was hasty, and he would not 
 bear pressing when he was not in the 
 humour. Now and then an angry word 
 had fixed itself in the memory of the little 
 girl, and rankled as she lay awake in 
 Factorj'-lane. Still, for the most part, the 
 walks were pure enjoyment ; and the lad's 
 nightly pursuits gave him so much to 
 impart on his side about general studies 
 far above Emmy's reach, that it seemed 
 almost presumption, when Emmy watched 
 her turn, and attempted to speak to him
 
 A DIFFERENCE. 99 
 
 of something of which he, on his side, 
 knew nothing. 
 
 It was one of those glorious days in 
 Octoher, when the summer seems to have 
 returned, if the shortenino; U2:ht would 
 but give it its way. The shrubby dingles 
 of the cliff- terraces were putting on bright 
 streaks of amber and gold, and the breeze, 
 as it visited them, whisked away the 
 loosened leaves in showers. 
 
 Emmy had been dilating, in her girlish 
 way, on the glories of the blessed state 
 to come, and had been tempting Pak's 
 belief by many a description rather apocry- 
 phal than apocalyptical. 
 
 They had been sitting at the bottom 
 of one of those many-tinted dingles. Pak 
 had listened longer and more quietly than 
 was his wont. At last he said, "Let us 
 go to the view," meaning a point some 
 fifty feet above them, commanding the
 
 100 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 whole of the beach, and the to^Ti with its 
 tower and chimneys, and the bluff mass of 
 North Cliff beyond. 
 
 Thither they climbed, lit by the now 
 westering sun, and casting their long sha- 
 dows over the level grass of the terrace. 
 
 And that elfish Bones was routing, 
 
 grubbing, whinnying with a little under 
 
 moan, sometimes breaking into a tiny 
 
 succession of staccato barks — but all for 
 
 nothing — and then dashing up, tumbling 
 
 over tufts and brambles, all tail and all 
 
 vibration, to his master and mistress, and 
 
 rewarded by a rough caress and a tumble 
 
 over from Pak's hand or Emmy's little foot. 
 
 But what will the keeper say ? For 
 
 this time he has brought a little rabbit, 
 
 and has laid it down at their feet, and is 
 
 frisking around it with joy. 
 
 "0 you wicked Bones, sha'n't you be 
 ossified ?"
 
 A DIFFERENCE. 101 
 
 " Say os-whipt, Pak, as some of your 
 friends do." 
 
 " Well, now, Emmy, about that heaven 
 of yours — will Bones go there ?" 
 
 " Pak, you wild fellow ! how should 
 he ? He's got no soul." 
 
 " No soul ? Why, what's joy but the 
 sign of a soul?" 
 
 " Well, I don't understand ; the Bible 
 doesn't say anything about it." 
 
 " More shame for it, then. Here's a 
 book, they say, proves God's love and 
 justice. Why doesn't it tell us anything 
 about the greater part of God's works ? 
 Look at the poor horses : they are beaten, 
 starved, scolded, driven about with great 
 raw sores on them, and then shot, and cut 
 up by the knacker ; if there's no heaven 
 for them, where's God's love, where's God's 
 justice, I'd like to know? What's the 
 Bible good for, if it can't say that ?"
 
 102 NETHERTON-OK-SEA. 
 
 The little girl sat down on a tuft of 
 grass and began to cry. Bones wriggled 
 up whining, and licked her hands, which 
 hid her face. 
 
 " Don't take on, now, little sister," 
 said Pak, kissing the said hands, and 
 sharing the lavish bestowals of dog's- 
 tongue. 
 
 It was a pretty scene : the blue sea, 
 hundreds of feet beneath ; the bright rocks 
 above them, gleaming in the evening sun ; 
 and that group of three, two of them 
 puzzled with the great world's riddle — one 
 doino; battle with it after his fashion, the 
 second awed and weeping under its burden, 
 and the third offering his best to solve it 
 by such love as it was in his power to 
 show. 
 
 " But then, Pak, why will you talk 
 so ? Why -will you use such terrible 
 words ?"
 
 A DIFFEEEXCE. 103 
 
 " My darling," said lie very tenderly, 
 *' I'm not used to your Bible ; I'm used 
 to the big sea, and the bright stai's, and 
 the joys and sufferings of the dumb crea- 
 tures. Your Bible was Avritten thousands 
 of years a^'o ; but these God is writino*, 
 painting, making, every day we live. 
 AVhich nuist I believe — what you say He 
 wrote ages ago, or what I see Him doing 
 now ?" 
 
 'No answer but sobs. 
 
 " Well, then, little sister, I suppose, 
 as mother says, we nmst 'drop the sub- 
 ject,' and talk about something else." 
 
 " Xo, Pak, thnt won't quite do. It's 
 a subject you and I must understand some 
 day ; we can't drop it." 
 
 " How do you mean, ^mderstaml some 
 day? I'm sure / shall never under- 
 stand it." 
 
 " Well, I'm a silly little girl ; I suppose
 
 10-1 NETHEKTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 I meant, we must come to an understanding 
 about it." 
 
 "0, that's it, is it?" said Pak ; "you 
 mean that you intend to believe the same 
 all your life, whatever you see or hear ; 
 and that I am to promise, if we are to 
 spend our lives together, to always believe 
 as you do, whatever / see and hear — to 
 nail my colours to the mast, as they say 
 in the sea-battles, and never yield, sink 
 or swim ?" 
 
 As Pak said this, he slightly flushed, 
 and drew himself up, his hands do^^l by 
 his side, and his fingers clenched, as in 
 earnest emotion. 
 
 And Emmy, in her turn, rose, as by 
 a sudden impulse, from her seat, and 
 stifling her sobs, said, as firmly as she 
 could, 
 
 " I mean always to beheve what dear 
 mother and Mrs. Bythesea have taught me.
 
 A DIFFERENCE. 105 
 
 and what the Rector teaches us all, and 
 what the Bible teaches everybody; and 
 I know that all I see and hear Avill 
 not weaken, but will strengthen my 
 faith." 
 
 And so the two stood opposite, not like 
 TeneriiFe and Atlas, nor like two sulphur- 
 laden clouds, but like a wayward high- 
 headed lad, and a pious constant little girl, 
 brought into conflict, despite their deep 
 love, or rather by the very depth of that 
 love ; conflict on a want of man's spirit 
 deejDer than love itself. 
 
 And Bones sat on end, looking wist- 
 fully from one face to another, and now 
 and then giving a little whine, and making 
 a false start to go, but subsiding again 
 when he saw no movement. 
 
 At last, Pak stepped forward and put 
 out his hand. 
 
 " Come, Emmy, you shall believe what
 
 106 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 you please, so long as you will be my 
 Httle wife." 
 
 But Emmy stood firm. 
 
 " Pak," she said, "you know I love 
 you, next to dear mother, best in the 
 world ; but there's One not in the world I 
 love better than all, and I won't cast my lot 
 with anyone who slights and dishkes Him." * 
 
 "And I," said Pak, "mean to be free 
 to change my belief as truth and justice 
 require. I sha'n't be always the same ; 
 then why am I to believe always the 
 same ?" 
 
 " Yes, you will be always the same," 
 said Emmy, now in her turn flushing u]), 
 and speaking with a firm, and it might 
 almost seem an inspired tone, and borrow- 
 ino" lano-uao'e beyond her own from some 
 remembered sermon or book ; " yes, always 
 the same — a poor dying creature ; yet not 
 alwaj's the same : day by day nearer death
 
 A DITFEKENCE. 107 
 
 — nearer the great account, when the de- 
 stroying angel will fly over, and look for 
 the blood on the door-posts." 
 
 " 0," said Pak in a tone of no longer 
 disguised anger, "that's too good by a 
 long way for me ; besides, I'm not going 
 to be tied all my life to the apron of a 
 Methodist preacher." 
 
 And here his natural impetuosity, his 
 enemy withm, had fairly gotten the mas- 
 tery ; so with a fling round, he turned his 
 back on Emmy, dashed wildly do'vvn the 
 clift'-path which crossed their way, and 
 was out of sight in an instant. Again and 
 again he hated himself for what he was 
 doing — again and again he was for turn- 
 ing back and clasping Emmy in his arms, 
 and giving hunself to her persuasion; but 
 the evil horse of his soul had the bit in 
 his teeth, and his was the moving power, 
 curb him who might.
 
 108 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 As for poor Emmy, she was at one of 
 those strange confluences of strong streams 
 of feeling, which issue in a great calm. 
 She neither wept nor spoke, but moved 
 slowly away in the landward direction, 
 witli her eyes fixed on the ground. 
 
 Shortly she became aware of something 
 rustling in the dry grass beside the path ; 
 and her first words were, "Come along, 
 Bones; I thought you had gone too." 
 
 And so he had ; scuttling away after 
 his young master. But Bones was a dog 
 of sober judgment, and good manners too, 
 except where sport was in question ; and 
 soon perceiving that anything but sjDort 
 was " up," he just halted to see the last 
 of Pak, and trotted back to take up his 
 lot with Emmy.
 
 CHAPTER yil. 
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 
 
 GUNPOWDER treason" in Xeth- 
 erton school was a joyous 
 reality. The Doctor, with 
 his true Tory sympathies, would as soon 
 have thouo'ht of abolishins: its celebration 
 as of abolishing Sunday. 
 
 In consequence, it was always a day 
 much anticipated, and provided for by an 
 ample supply of subscription fireworks. 
 The very form and precedents of such pro- 
 vision had been laid down by precedent. 
 The captain of the school wrote up to 
 Madame Hengler, the great purveyor for 
 Yauxhall ; and considerable was his added 
 importance when the box arrived, directed
 
 110 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 to him, and, as school etiquette would 
 have it, to be opened by none but his own 
 hands. 
 
 All this had duly happened the day 
 before, and the captain and committee 
 were now, at 5 p.m. on the great day 
 itself, in the large schoolroom completing 
 their arrangements, when the following 
 dialogue occurred : 
 
 " I say, DaAves, tip us a knife, there's 
 a good fellow." 
 
 " Not till I know what it's for." 
 
 "Why, there's a stick missing. Here 
 are twelve sixpemiy rockets, and only 
 eleven sticks ; and I'm going to cut one 
 in half, and put it to two, that's all." 
 
 "Perhaps they won't go up," said 
 Dawes. 
 
 " Never you mind ; I'll take chance 
 of that." 
 
 So the stick was bisected, and care-
 
 THE FIFTH OF NO\^JIBEK. Ill 
 
 fully fitted to two rockets ; and much 
 handier and better proportioned the two 
 looked in the eyes of the boys than Ma- 
 dame Hengler's lanky-shafted ten. 
 
 The evenino; Avas clear, and without 
 a moon ; but the wind had risen, and 
 blew with raving gusts from the S.W., 
 as if it meant mischief However, for 
 the present all was w^ell ; the smaller 
 pieces, wheels, &c. might be let off under 
 the shelter of the schoolroom - wall, and 
 the rockets, if they could not quite pre- 
 serve their perpendicular course, would 
 flare about grandly, and shake out their 
 coloured lights among the stars. So every- 
 body was in high spirits. 
 
 Supper was over, and the long-ex- 
 pected hour of eight had struck, when the 
 overture to the evenin2:'s entertainment 
 came off in the firino; of three maroons, 
 followed by a loud ringing cheer from
 
 112 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 the boys. The firework committee, with 
 the captain at their head, were duly 
 posted to keep the ground, and to superin- 
 tend the proceedings, the Doctor himself 
 among them, to see all safe. 
 
 Under such superintendence, piece after 
 piece achieved signal success ; and it was 
 obvious, from the wide echoing of the 
 cheers, that they were taken up by a 
 considerable body of townspeople without. 
 
 At a certain stage of the proceedings, 
 the Doctor, with the captain and the lead- 
 ing sixth-form boys, were busily employed 
 in fixing the principal piece of the evening 
 — a Guy, well-stuffed with minor devilries 
 in the shape of Jacks - in - the - box and 
 crackers, with an inscription in fiery let- 
 ters. Sic pereant omnes. 
 
 Gregson and Dawes had been left in 
 charge of the rocket - frame, and were 
 keeping the public in play meantime. In
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 113 
 
 due order, and, of course, without any 
 misgiving on the Y>iirt of Gregson, the 
 first of the short-legged rockets was paid 
 in to Dawes, who w^as fixing them on the 
 frame. 
 
 " Now then, old fellow, see whether 
 this won't top 'em all," said the confident 
 inventor. 
 
 " Sorry to be bound for it," was 
 Dawes's answer. 
 
 " Here goes a beagle !" he exclaimed, 
 as he lit the fuse. 
 
 A shout of laughter and loud clapping 
 of hands followed ; for the beagle seemed 
 to think, contrary to the practice of that 
 species, that " doubling" was his especial 
 vocation ; and after ascending some fifty 
 feet, deliberately curved over, and, after 
 describing an imposing arc of fire, dis- 
 appeared behind Messrs. Warham and Wix's 
 big factory. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " What's that ?" cried the Doctor, with 
 a strange tone in his voice, the effect of 
 a queer sort of pang which shot across 
 his chest. 
 
 " Only a rocket with a short stick, sir," 
 answered Dawes, Gregson having disap- 
 peared in the crowd. 
 
 " Then don't you send up such an- 
 other." 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," said the school- 
 porter ; " but I'm afraid we shall hear of 
 that chap again." 
 
 "Just run quietly round, "Wilson, and 
 see it safe." 
 
 " That's more than I dare promise, 
 sir," answered the porter, disappearing 
 through the gate. 
 
 There is something very remarkable 
 in the effect of an unacknowledo:ed dread. 
 It seemed as if half the school had in- 
 stantly become paralysed. A splendid
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 115 
 
 wheel had just begun to spin round, and 
 Avas dispersing its sparks of different hues 
 and patterns ; but only the lower boys 
 appeared to care about it. Some of the 
 others formally joined in the applause ; 
 but almost every eye was really turned 
 anxiously past the tall chimney where 
 the mad comet had been lost to sight. 
 
 Two circumstances, however, served 
 to divert the general attention from this 
 source of fear. One was, that the fabric 
 for the great piece de feu at this moment, 
 perhaps from having lost for the time the 
 attention of its watchers, gave way before 
 the wind, Avhich had been steadily increas- 
 ing ; the other that, while all were crowded 
 round the ruin, speculating whether the 
 Guy could be rehabilitated, the porter re- 
 turned, and announced to the anxious 
 Doctor that he had been all round the 
 factory, and " couldn't find no trace o' 'un."
 
 116 
 
 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 So the committee and the Doctor set 
 themselves to repair the mischief, and 
 meanwhile the show went on. 
 
 *Jb ^^ Mg ,AU 
 
 TP TP ^ TP 
 
 Between the great factory and the 
 river was a space of ground which in 
 times past had been occupied by cottages, 
 such as cottatres were at Xetherton in 
 other years. Of these, such as stood in 
 the way of the new building had been 
 removed. The rest were left, and served 
 as inferior out -houses, where empty casks 
 and other articles of lumber were de- 
 posited. The river - front of these half- 
 ruins was one of the very few picturesque 
 objects in modern Xetherton ; and Mr. 
 Gilp, who served as drawing - master to 
 both the school and the college, might be 
 sometimes seen sittins^ with his class amon^}^ 
 the coarse grass and the marsh-marigolds 
 on the field opposite, treating the old
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 117 
 
 cottages as a drawing - lesson. The few 
 bits of mossy thatch, judiciously exagge- 
 rated ; the quaint wooden gallery, with 
 its hand-rail and carved balusters, pro- 
 jecting from the old window which nestled 
 under a pent-house roof of dark lichened 
 tiles, — all this, duly reflected in the still 
 river, with a punt among reeds in the 
 foreground, decorated Gilp's modest study 
 in Evenborough, and hung, in various 
 deo-rees of daub, in some of the school- 
 studies also. 
 
 It wanted about ten minutes to nine, 
 when Dr. Resp, driven by his groom, was 
 passing, in the well-known medical phae- 
 ton, along the road which at one point 
 gets a glimpse of the factory cottages across 
 the field. The Doctor was half-dozing after 
 a hard day's work, with his arms folded 
 and his head on his chest, when the groom 
 timidly touched him on the arm.
 
 118 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir; but ain't tli at some- 
 thing as shouldn't be ?" 
 
 The Doctor looked in the direction 
 pointed at, and saw small scudding threads 
 of smoke, driven by the Avind, and lit up 
 by an occasional flash of flame issuing 
 from the thatch of the factory cottages. 
 
 "Hullo, Sam, that's mischief; push 
 alono' to the fire-office as hard as it's safe." 
 
 The Doctor's mare, accustomed to Sam's 
 " double-quick" chirrup, put both her best 
 leofs foremost, and in less than two minutes 
 they were at the fire-office in the High- 
 street. 
 
 " Xow you help look-up the firemen, 
 Sam," said the Doctor. " I'll put up the 
 mare ; 'tisn't the first time." 
 
 So this part of the matter was taken 
 care of. 
 
 Meantime the wind had increased to 
 half a gale ; and those who on the first
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 119 
 
 cry of " Fire !" raised by Sam and the 
 firemen, had run off to the spot, arrived 
 in the field just in time to see the full 
 blaze from the cottages playing on the 
 window - frames of the factory, which had 
 already caught, and were glittering with 
 beads of fire. 
 
 In the school-yard, the Doctor and the 
 committee were still busy setting up the 
 damaged Guy in a place of better shelter 
 under the school-wall, when there rose from 
 the mob outside a shout of surprise and 
 dismay — a cry which would make any man 
 pause in his work, and eagerly seek for its 
 reason. 
 
 " What's that ? what's that ?" cried the 
 Doctor, after his manner, hurriedly. 
 
 " Look there, sir !" shouted a dozen 
 voices at once. And the Doctor looked 
 up, to see the sky lurid with the light 
 from behind, and the first bright tongue of
 
 120 ' NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 flame shooting up from the factory-roof. 
 To the credit of Dr. Digam's presence of 
 mind, his first care was peremptorily to 
 order the whole school within walls. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said he, "there is a 
 deplorable fire, and I grievously fear we 
 are not guiltless of it. But I'm responsible 
 for your safety, and I mean to look to 
 it. The monitors will see the whole 
 school in ; and, Mr. Timins, I rely on you 
 to keep all safe, and let none out. The 
 front dormitory - windows will give you 
 a full view of all that is to happen. My 
 post is elsewhere. — Wilson, let me out, 
 and see that the gates are kej^t strictly." 
 
 By this time the whole of the big 
 roof was a furnace of roaring flames. 
 In the gusts of wind, they swept along 
 almost horizontally, thousands x)f sparks, 
 like driving swarms of bees, flying far 
 away into the night. In the intervals of
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 121 
 
 comparative calm, the flames swirled about, 
 wreathed Avith dark worms of smoke twined 
 among them ; while the skeleton ribs of 
 rafters were beaded with pearls of whiter 
 fire, which seemed continually running up 
 them and disappearing. At such times, 
 the columns of smoke rose brown and 
 lurid into the air, laced with vivid white 
 at the edges. The sky and the stars 
 looked an unearthly blue in the presence 
 of the conflagration, and the street-lamps 
 put on a dull green, and almost vanished. 
 
 As to the engines, with no more de- 
 lay than was inevitable, they had been 
 got out, and, at the usual tearing gallop, 
 had dashed into the field behind, where 
 was an inexhaustible supply of water from 
 the river, especially at this time, when it 
 was high spring-tide. But a hand-engine 
 is but a poor thing at its best ; and there 
 were no steam fire-engines at Netherton.
 
 122 NETHERTON-OX-SEA. 
 
 Besides, when they arrived, they might 
 as well have tried to put out Vesuvius. 
 The whole factory was one huge crater, 
 roaring, crackling, raging in tempestuous 
 fury. Here and there, where the jet 
 happened to fall, there was heard a sharp 
 sputter, and there rose a cloud of white 
 steam, mmgled T^dth the hell of smoke 
 and flame and sparks ; but that was all. 
 
 Suddenly there was a cry, " How about 
 the houses in Factory - lane ?" Ah, how 
 about them indeed ? Could they be reached 
 with the hose ? Alas ! that picturesque 
 punt which figured in Mr. Gilp's drawing- 
 lesson existed on paper only ; and even 
 if a fireman were to swim over ^\T.th the 
 hose, which was immediately offered, the 
 point of danger in Factory-lane v»'as not, 
 it was feared, near enough to the river 
 to be reached from where the en2:ines 
 now were. And between that spot and
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBEE. 123 
 
 Factoiy-lane itself, a, drive round for them 
 of at least a mile and a half intervened. 
 Besides, the horses had been sent away, 
 and would have to be again fetched. And, 
 to add to all, the uncomfortable thought 
 flashed over people, that the whole of 
 Factory-lane, and the street leading to it, 
 were now " up " for the new drainage 
 scheme, and the imhappy houses couldn't 
 after all be approached. 
 
 ***** 
 The appearance of the interior of Xo. 
 4 in that lane, on this evening, was that 
 which it had worn on many evenings 
 past. Mrs. Benson's weak health had been 
 the plea for declining the kind offer of 
 the Eector that Emmy might, with the 
 rest of the school - children, witness the 
 fireworks under his protection. Mrs. Ben- 
 son's unwillingness to break in upon her 
 habit of retiring very early to rest had
 
 124 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 come in aid of her reluctance to intrust 
 her darling even to such a guide in the 
 midst of a nightly crowd. 
 
 The precaution for that particular even- 
 mg turned out indeed to be fully justified. 
 The good lady had been taken at tea- 
 time with a worse than usual faintness, 
 and, after in vain having recourse to the 
 generally successful ether-droj^s, had needed 
 all Emmy's help to get her up to bed. 
 
 The little girl had knelt by her mo- 
 ther's bedside, and had put up the nightly 
 prayer for protection, with the change 
 from her own prayers into the plural, now 
 not unusual. But it was barely half-past 
 seven, and she was not yet sleej^y; so she 
 sat, half reading, half in a waking dream, 
 by the little round table with its solitary 
 candle. As she sat on, she could hear 
 the increasmg sound of voices in the school- 
 yard ; and the bangs of the three maroons
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 125 
 
 and the accompanying cheer did not pass 
 unnoticed by her. She did not go to the 
 window, because the opposite houses, being 
 very much higher than their own, shut 
 out all view of the sky. Cheers on cheers 
 followed ; but neither these, nor the in- 
 terest of her book, could keep Emmy's 
 eyes from closing. Before long the little 
 head sank do^vn, and after one start, oc- 
 casioned by the falling of the book on 
 the floor, and a look to see that it had 
 not awoke her mother, remained resting 
 on the table before her. 
 
 *^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 f^ •3f •«" "ir 
 
 Was it a dream? No, no; it was no 
 dream. A tight grasp round the waist; 
 a sudden snatching up; a roaring and 
 scorching and dazzling; a suffocating hot 
 smoke filling her eyes and throat. 
 
 "Jump! for the love of God, jump!" 
 she heard strong voices cry.
 
 126 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 A heavy shock, as of falling on some- 
 thmg soft, a sharp crack of pain, which 
 seemed to dart through her Avhole frame, 
 and she found herself and another figure, 
 by which and on which she was lying, 
 the centre of an eager group of faces 
 glaring in the lurid light of strong flame. 
 
 Those who stood by relate that she 
 screamed, " Mother, mother !" and then 
 lost sensation. 
 
 As she was beins; carried off to the 
 hospital, " The boy, the boy ! Look after 
 the boy !" was the general cry. Poor fel- 
 low, he Seemed past looking after. The 
 mattress, which had been laid on the rough 
 heaps of earth that filled the street, had 
 indeed broken his fall; but he lay sense- 
 less in a heap, and to the various attempts 
 to arouse him made no response. 
 
 At this moment there was a cry to 
 make way, and Dr. Eesp appeared, be-
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 127 
 
 grimed with smirch, and bleeding from a 
 wound in the forehead. 
 
 "Bless us, Doctor," cried a woman's 
 voice; " are ye hurt?" 
 
 " Nothing, my good friend ; nothing 
 but a broken head. But what's this?" 
 
 "It's the lad as saved her," cried the 
 same voice; " and they say he's dead." 
 
 There was an anxious silence while 
 the Doctor stooped down and examined 
 the lifeless mass. Before he £:ave anv 
 verdict he took a small bottle from his 
 pocket, and forcing the mouth open, poured 
 something in. 
 
 " He's not dead, my friends ; only 
 stunned. But we can't tell yet what 
 harm is done. "Watch him, some of you. 
 I must go on farther. I'll be back in a 
 few minutes." 
 
 These last words of Dr. Besp's im- 
 plied that this was not the only feature
 
 128 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 in the distressing scene. The whole of 
 the houses on the factory side of the lane 
 were by this time in a blaze, and what- 
 ever could be saved out of them had 
 been saved ere this. It seemed as if the 
 salvage had been complete as far as human 
 life was concerned, as few would be, like 
 the Bensons, shut up for the night; in- 
 deed half the population had been out 
 seeing; the fireworks. Tlie crowd in the 
 lane was fast thinning, being driven away 
 by the intolerable heat. There was only 
 one anxious group in sight, and they soon 
 came up, bearing on their entwined arms 
 a man who had been severely hurt by 
 some fallino; timbers; the Doctor leadins* 
 the way, and guiding them over the heaps 
 of earth and bricks. 
 
 " There," he said, " you can go on to 
 the hospital without me. Now then, any 
 sign of life?"
 
 THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER. 129 
 
 " Not a bit, Doctor." 
 
 "Here; let me see. All right; he's 
 coming round." 
 
 The Doctor once more had recourse 
 to the bottle. The eyes began slowly to 
 open, and a long loud sigh was heard. 
 
 "Well, my boy?" 
 
 "Emmy, Emmy! Where's Emmy?" 
 was the only answer. 
 
 " Emmy's safe, my fine lad." 
 ■ "Is she hurt? 0, you're the Doctor, 
 and you're sure to know." 
 
 "Everybody's hurt to-night, my boy, 
 more or less." 
 
 The lad tried to sit up, but fell back 
 again. 
 
 "That poor Mrs. Benson!" he cried. 
 
 "What of her?" asked half a dozen 
 voices. 
 
 " Shall I tell? No, I can't tell. Yes, I 
 will," said in cue breath the bewildered boy. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 "Tell on," said the Doctor; then aside 
 to the bystanders added : " Perhaps it will 
 relieve him; and then we'll take him to 
 the hospital." 
 
 " 0," said the half-hysterical voice, 
 now interrupted by sobs, " I went to her 
 first, when I broke in and saw Emmy 
 asleep. I called her, I shook her, but — 
 but — " and the poor lad broke out into 
 a hysterical fit of sobbing, in the midst 
 of which he uttered some words. 
 
 " What does he say ?" asked the by- 
 standers. 
 
 " He says she was dead." 
 
 " Yes, dead," repeated Pak ; " and then 
 the flames burst in, and — what are you 
 doing with me?'' 
 
 "We're carrying you where you will 
 be taken care of, and where Emmy is," 
 replied the kind Doctor. 
 
 It was as Pak, amidst his sobs, had
 
 ■ THE FIFTH OF NOVESIBEK. 
 
 131 
 
 stated. Mrs. Benson's spirit had fled be- 
 fore her little girl had dropped asleep; 
 and the fire had been but her funeral 
 pile. 
 
 f^^-
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN, THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 ^HAT 
 
 a strange process is 
 
 the gradual return to con- 
 
 sciousness ! Where does the 
 spirit wander during that period of ap- 
 parent death in life? 
 
 Emmy opened her eyes at last on a 
 scene so new to her that she was fain to 
 turn on her pillow, and try to rid herself 
 of this too vivid dream, as she deemed it. 
 But a sharp twinge of j^ain in making the 
 attempt still further aroused her, and lift- 
 ing her heavy eyelids, she gazed into the 
 face of a kind, motherly - looking woman,
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 133 
 
 who was sitting by the side of her bed, 
 and was holding some cordial in her hand, 
 to be given to the patient as soon as her 
 senses returned. The nurse, who was by 
 no means one of Pharaoh's lean kine, put 
 her stalwart arm under the clustering 
 auburn curls, and raised the little head 
 sufficiently to enable the sufferer to take 
 her draught. Presently she went oif to 
 other bedsides, and Emmy was left to 
 arrange her ideas as best she might. 
 How was it that any hand but her mo- 
 ther's tended her? That was too great 
 a puzzle for the poor brain just now, so 
 she left it alone, and tried to make out 
 her whereabouts. He eyes wandered up 
 and do"\vn a long lofty room, with 
 whitewashed walls and sanded floor; rows 
 of little beds, like her own, ranging on 
 either side the whole length of the room; 
 a large window at each end, and a fire-
 
 134 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 place opposite the door in the middle of 
 one side, making a break in the mono- 
 tonous line of beds. All this Emmy me- 
 chanically took in, and also read the 
 illuminated texts which hung here and 
 there on the walls, without getting much 
 idea out of it all ; so that she was almost 
 forced to the conclusion, poor child, of 
 the old woman in the nursery-rhyme, 
 that she was not herself at all, so unac- 
 countable was everything around. 
 
 While she was worrying her mind about 
 it, Dr. Eesp came up, with his pleasant 
 look and cheery voice, and asked his 
 patient how she did. 
 
 " Are you in much pain, little one ?" 
 " When I move, sir, a good deal. But, 
 please, sir," she added, gaining confidence 
 from the kind face and from the grasp 
 of the warm hand laid gently on her 
 ■\vrist, "the worst is, I can't tell where I
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 135 
 
 am, or how I came here." And the lus- 
 trous tears welled up m her touching 
 browni eyes. 
 
 " Well, my little maid," answered the 
 Doctor, feeling rather choky himself, " I'll 
 try and make it all clear to you. This, 
 you know, is the hospital. You've plenty 
 of companions, you see. And we brought 
 you here because you had a fall last night 
 and hurt yourself." 
 
 A painful expression of returning me- 
 mory crossed the little face now. The 
 Doctor went on unheeding, as it must be 
 be told first or last. 
 
 " There was a great fire last night — 
 the 5th of November, you remember ? — 
 and a rocket set fire to some thatch be- 
 hind the factory, which was burnt down, 
 and some cottages, and yours amongst 
 the number. But no one was killed, and 
 only two hurt besides you — a tramp, and
 
 136 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 the brave boy who saved you by jump- 
 ing with you out of the window." 
 
 "Did he?" said Emmy, a bright light 
 in her eye and a flush on her cheek. 
 " And is he hurt really? 0, I hope not!" 
 
 The o-ood Doctor smiled to himself at 
 this instant identification of the actual 
 person who had done it. " The ruling 
 passion strong in — weakness," thought he, 
 and answered, " No, he's getting well 
 fast; and you must be a good girl, and 
 do the same." 
 
 He was moving away, but Emmy called 
 him back. 
 
 "Please, sir, do you know why my 
 mother is not here to nurse me ? She was 
 poorly last night, I remember; but I sup- 
 pose she is well now." 
 
 " Yes, my child," said the Doctor in 
 a solemn tone, " she is quite well now, 
 never to be ill again."
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. l37 
 
 The large wistful eyes were raised to 
 his. Emmy could not mistake his mean- 
 ing; and yet she could not believe what 
 he implied. She could not speak to ask 
 an explanation, but looked so pleadingly 
 at him that the poor man had to turn 
 away before he could continue his tale. 
 
 " Your mother died last night, lying 
 -quietly in her bed, with you sitting by 
 her. You would not surely wish to bring 
 her back to pain and sickness after she 
 has passed so peacefully away to where 
 the weary are at rest? Think of it, little 
 one. You wouldn't be so selfish, I 
 know." 
 
 The Doctor had roused her at last. 
 
 " 0, was I selfish and cruel to my 
 mother?" she cried, the tears overflowing 
 now. " Indeed, indeed, I tried not to 
 be; but — " and a shiver ran through her 
 frame — " I am sure she was only asleep.
 
 138 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 It must have been that dreadful fire 
 that killed her; and I left her there to 
 die all alone! 0, how I wish I had died 
 instead! I remember it now : she had 
 gone to bed early, and I sat by the little 
 round table reading Sergeant Dale^ and I 
 looked over and saw her sweetly asleep; 
 and after that it was all a dream — first a 
 happy one, and then a crash and confu-* 
 sion. It makes my head ache to think of 
 it. But, sir, she really wasn't dead !" 
 
 The poor child had worked herself up 
 into such a state of excitement that the 
 Doctor began to fear for the consequences. 
 His assurances could not calm her. The 
 idea of her poor mother left to a dread- 
 ful death was quite too much for her. 
 A bright idea occurred at length to Dr. 
 Resp. He went and told his difficidty to 
 Pak, who was long ere this fully sensible 
 and quiet.
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 139 
 
 "Mayn't I go to her, sir? She will 
 believe me." 
 
 "No, my boy; you couldn't walk if 
 you tried to-day; you are too stiff. But 
 give me a message to her." 
 
 "Then tell her," said he, "from me, 
 ' Pak says you know him too well to be- 
 lieve he would have left your mother to 
 die and saved himself alive; that he knew 
 for certain Mrs. Benson Avas dead before 
 he took you away. She died while you 
 were asleep.' And please tell her, sir, to 
 remember her talk on the cliff, and not 
 to grieve too much." 
 
 This message, delivered to Emmy word 
 for word, had a wonderful effect. She 
 was calm directly, and merely saying in a 
 gentle voice, "I'm wrong and he's right; 
 please tell him so, sir, with Emmy's love ; 
 and thank you, sir, for all your kindness,"
 
 140 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 slie buried her head in her pillow, to 
 thmk it all out. 
 
 Emmy had, during this season of trial, 
 a hard lesson to learn, and a difficult test 
 to stand. 
 
 As she lay confined by the nature of 
 her hurt to one position, thoroughly rebel- 
 lious feelings swelled up in her heart. 
 Had anyone ever had such troubles be- 
 fore ? Mother, home and all, gone ! and 
 she, perhaps, a cripple all the rest of her 
 life, and a burden upon others ! Pak was 
 left, and his kind words were as a gleam 
 in the darkness ; but perhaps they were 
 merely the first outburst of his kind heart, 
 and even he would come to despise her 
 now. She felt herself miserably untrue 
 to her own principles, and the pain of her 
 limb night and day made her so irritable 
 that she quite despised herself, and thought 
 she should like to hide away from Pak,
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 141 
 
 and from the rest of the world. She 
 sometimes, for a moment, tried to think 
 she should like to die ; but this was never 
 serious, for she felt far too wicked, poor 
 child. But this sad state did not last long. 
 There was a certain Lady Cooper, who 
 was visiting in the neighbourhood, and 
 often came into the hospital. She had 
 gone through trouble herself, and had that 
 gentle chastened look and voice which so 
 quickly find their way to the hearts of 
 fellow-sufferers. She took a great fancy 
 to Emmy, and would often speak to her 
 words of comfort, and read to her from the 
 Bible, or from other .books. At first she 
 said little in return : but at last her shy- 
 ness gave way, and she confided her griefs 
 to her kind friend, who in turn told her 
 some of her own story : how trouble had 
 taught her to know herself, and how much 
 real happiness she had gathered from its
 
 142 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 lessons. She set her at rest as to Pak's 
 despismg her, by bringing him to see her 
 one day, rather contrary to rule ; and 
 after the happy five minutes together, 
 Emmy had no more fears on that head. 
 She was four months in the hospital ; but 
 towards the latter part of the time she 
 was becoming convalescent, and had quite 
 regamed her cheerfulness. Her good friend 
 Lady Cooper had gone from the neigh- 
 bourhood, but she had left behind her 
 peace in Emmy's breast. She could think 
 of her mother now with thankfulness, and 
 could trust her own future with Him who 
 alone could order it. Pak had left long 
 ago ; but he often brought her little pre- 
 sents, and had a few minutes' chat with 
 her. 
 
 One afternoon, when Emmy came in 
 from a stroll in the hospital-garden, which 
 she could now accomplish without crutches,
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 143 
 
 she was going to her bedside to put some 
 snowdrops m water, when she was told to 
 go into the committee - room, as a lady 
 wished to speak to her. This was rather 
 an alarming summons for a shy girl of 
 thirteen ; and the lady whom she saw on 
 entering the room was hardly a person to 
 reassure her. Facing her, with the breadth 
 of the board-room table between, stood a 
 tall, erect, and rather thin woman, of per- 
 haps about forty, though the scanty curls 
 showing in front of her bonnet, with their 
 streaks of iron-gray, would have made you 
 guess her to be older. But her piercing 
 eyes had lost none of their brightness. 
 Bloom she had never had to lose, but 
 with her reo:ular features and dio;nified 
 bearing, she was still considered rather a 
 handsome woman. Emily dropped a cour- 
 tesy, immediately recognising Mrs. Bythe- 
 sea, the Rector's wife.
 
 144 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " So you are Emily Benson, who was 
 so much injured by that unjustifiable fire 
 in the autumn ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I am." 
 
 "So I believe ; and your mother is 
 dead, and you are invalided, perhaps, 
 for life ?" interrogated the matter-of-fact 
 lady. 
 
 The tears welled up into poor Emmj^'s 
 eyes. A feehng of pride kept them back, 
 but she could not speak. 
 
 The Rector's lady — who was, perhaps, 
 as devoid of tact as any woman could be, 
 though kind at heart — always made a 
 point of investigating a case thoroughly 
 before acting ; so she went on : 
 
 " Ah, well. Dr. Resp assures me that, 
 with proper care, rest, and nourishing diet, 
 there is no danger of a relapse ; so, as they 
 can keep you here no longer, and there 
 is nowhere else where you can go, the
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 145 
 
 Rector has advised me to offer you the 
 
 shelter of our roof." 
 
 Emmy, choking down her emotion, 
 
 managed to say, 
 
 " My duty and thanks to the Rector, 
 ma'am, but I had rather go somewhere 
 else, and earn my hving." 
 
 " A very proper feeling on your part," 
 answered the lady, never suspecting that 
 she was herself the object that Emmy 
 wished to avoid ; " but, you see, it is an 
 impossibility for you to earn your bread 
 just now; and I may say, it would be 
 like committing suicide, were you to refuse 
 the rest and good living you would get 
 at our house, and resolve on killing your- 
 self Tvith work elsewhere." 
 
 This was a strong way of putting it, 
 and Mrs. B. felt proud of her oratorical 
 powers ; but happening to glance at the 
 sensitive face, quivering with emotion, and 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 the rebellious tears now fairly in full 
 course down the cheeks, her heart was 
 touched for the orphan girl, and comin^^ 
 up to her, she said, as gently as she ever 
 said anything, 
 
 " I'm afraid I've been talking too long 
 and too loud for my little patient that 
 is to be ; but I'll leave you to think over 
 it now. Remember" (she had never told 
 her this before), "you are to be like a 
 daughter to us, not to belong to the ser- 
 vants at all ; but, as the Rector bid me 
 tell you, to be our own little one." 
 
 She stooped her erect form, and kissed 
 the hot, wet cheek. Perhaps Mrs. B. had 
 never, since the birth of her only son, felt 
 such an unusual thrill of tenderness. As 
 for Emmy, she was quite conquered. 
 
 " 0, thank you, ma'am, and thank the 
 kind Rector a thousand times! I am sorry 
 I was so cross before."
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 147 
 
 Mrs. B. merely said, " I didn't observe 
 that you were cross, my child ; but pain 
 makes people feel so, I know. Now, 
 good-bye ; I shall bring my carriage 
 round for you on Saturday next, if all's 
 well." 
 
 So Emmy had to make the most of her 
 few days, in taking leave of her friends in 
 the hospital, and in trying to comfort her 
 especial pet, little Johnny Jay, a rosy- 
 cheeked, blue-eyed boy of six, who had 
 lost an arm, and who loved her, poor little 
 lad, with all his heart. 
 
 Mrs. Bythesea drove home very well 
 pleased with herself, and, which was more 
 to the point, with Emmy also. But there 
 was one misgiving which would not let her 
 rest : so as soon as the cloth was removed 
 from the dinner- table, and the Rector and 
 herself were left over the dessert, she 
 begun to ease her mind.
 
 148 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " My clear Philip, if you ^\all let that 
 Times wait a bit, and listen to me, I have 
 something j)articular to consult you about." 
 
 " At your pleasure, madam," said the 
 courtly old Rector, bending his head, and 
 patiently lajdng aside the newspaper, which, 
 arriving generally about with the cheese, 
 was his daily after-dinner treat. 
 
 " I wouldn't broach the subject," con- 
 tinued Mrs. B., " during the servant's pre- 
 sence; but I am in great perplexity about 
 your notion of adopting Emily Benson. 
 She is all one can ^vish in herself; but 
 remember, my dear PhiHp, there's our 
 Gerald, he mil be home for his vacation 
 in June ; and it's quite against my prin- 
 ciples to throw two young people together 
 in the way they would be, were she living 
 in the house during his stay at home." 
 
 The good man, instead of sympathising 
 mth her in this serious difficulty, threw
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 149 
 
 himself back in his chair, and burst into 
 a loud fit of laughter ; rather an unusual 
 thing with the humorous but most decorous 
 parson. Mrs. B., naturally insulted by his 
 levity, drew herself up into a more erect 
 posture than usual, and with a burning 
 face and flashing eye, said somewhat 
 severely, 
 
 "Very well. Rector" (she always called 
 him " Rector" when taking him to task), 
 " we'll drop the subject. I see I was mis- 
 taken in supposing my husband able to 
 help me out of my dilemma." 
 
 So saying she swept out of the room, 
 he not rising as usual to open the door 
 for her, but taking up instead his post- 
 poned newspaper, and apparently absorb- 
 ing himself in its contents. 
 
 " Poor dear Kate !" he said to himself; 
 " I was very rude to laugh out ; but it 
 tickled me so, the idea of that pretty
 
 150 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 little baby- girl turning suddenly into a 
 designing }'oung woman, bent on tbe con- 
 quest of that great fellow Gerald, who 
 thinks himself a man, at any rate. Well, 
 I suppose I must give up this pet scheme 
 of mine. I had taken a great fancy to 
 adopting our little Sundaj^ - scholar, and 
 thought her companionship might have 
 a soothing effect upon poor Kate's nerves. 
 I'm sure these tantrums must try her." 
 
 This, and a good deal more, passed 
 through the husband's mind, mixed with 
 leading-articles and the state of the money- 
 market, until the tea-bell rang, when, on 
 enterino; the drawino- - room, he at once 
 broached the subject. 
 
 "Kate, my dear, I've been thinking 
 over what you said ; and as you have such 
 fears, perhaps we had better give up Emily 
 Benson as a daughter, and try to keep 
 her out of want by other means."
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 151 
 
 " Give her up ! no, I couldn't give 
 her up ; she won my heart this very 
 day. I must have her." 
 
 "Well, then, my dear, we are still in 
 the same serious peril we were in before. 
 How are we to prevent this designing 
 young person from beguiling our only son 
 into marrying her, murdering me for the 
 sake of the money, stowing you away in 
 an almshouse or an asylum, and then 
 quietly putting her husband out of the 
 way to bestow her rich hand upon some 
 former plebeian suitor? It's an awful 
 prospect ; and though you call it wrong 
 to read sensation novels, here's one cut- 
 and-dried in your own imagination." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Bvthesea! her husband had 
 the best of it ; and she could not keep 
 her rigid features from relaxing into a 
 smile at his imaginary realisation of her 
 fears.
 
 152 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " What nonsense you talk, Phil ! can't 
 you propose some way out of the difficulty, 
 instead of bantering me like that ? At 
 all events, your chaff has put one into 
 my head. Suppose we ask your brother 
 the Colonel to let her spend her holidays 
 with them ? She would be a charming 
 companion for Lucy, wild headstrong girl 
 as she is. I'll write to-night, and arrange 
 it all." 
 
 And so, as was usually the case, Mrs. 
 Rector gave herself the credit of first 
 having named the danger, and at last 
 having provided against it ; whereas the 
 quieter and deeper Rector had seen it 
 long ago, and the way to obviate it also ; 
 but knew his mind's peace better than 
 to be first to propomid either. 
 
 Anyhow, so it was settled ; and on 
 the following Saturday the Rectory car-
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 153 
 
 riage fetched Emmy away from lier hos- 
 pital friends, and set her down at the 
 Rectory garden-gate.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE DAY AFTEE THE FIEE. 
 
 ;N the morning of the 6 th of Iso- 
 vember, the Mayor, like other 
 people, had not got to bed till 
 the small hours were beginning to grow 
 large. Breakfast-tables m Netherton were 
 laid late, and filled later, that day. 
 
 Just as his worship was sitting do^vn, 
 a note was brought in, directed in a well- 
 known hand ; but the contents were as 
 unexpected as the handwriting was fa- 
 miliar. 
 
 " What do you think of this, my dear ?" 
 said the Mayor.
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. 155 
 
 " Dear Mr. Mayor, — I was surprised, 
 while in my dressing-room this morning, 
 by a knock at the door. It proved to be 
 my head-boy, with a packet in his hand ; 
 and his message was this : 'The schoLars 
 fear, sir, that they were the cause of the 
 terrible fire last night. What they can 
 do of course is as nothing in comparison 
 of what has happened ; but here's all the 
 money in the school towards the relief 
 of the sufferers, and we are sure our 
 parents will do more.' I have added a 
 trifle of my own ; and am, dear Mr. 
 Mayor, 
 
 " Yours very faithfully, 
 
 " Daniel Digam." 
 
 " Fine fellows !" exclaimed Mrs. Mayor. 
 
 " But let us see what it is," said he ; 
 and so saying, unfolded a cheque for 227/. 
 ds. Gd. " Ah, it's pretty clear how that got
 
 156 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 put together. Poor dear Doctor ! every shil- 
 ling of the 200/. was got by good honest 
 brain-work. It's a fair tithe of all he has 
 laid by in these ten years, I've reason to 
 know." 
 
 Nor was the astonishment of the worthy 
 pair diminished when, before the meal was 
 over, the mid-day mail brought a registered 
 letter with the Exeter post -mark, and a 
 100/. note enclosed, "For the burnt out;" 
 the only indication of its donor bemg the 
 single word '"'' Apodemos^^ ("One from 
 home") on the flap of the envelope. 
 
 " Well, my dear, this is a day of won- 
 ders. However, we have a capital nest- 
 egg ; and now I'll send for the crier, 
 and call a meeting at three in the Town- 
 hall." 
 
 The meeting was duly crowded, and 
 received with loud cheers the Mayor's an- 
 nouncements, which, being made in his
 
 THE DAY AFTEE THE FIRE. 157 
 
 oj^ening speech, at once disarmed all wrath 
 agamst the Doctor and the " scholars." 
 And there was another hearty cheer when 
 the senior partner in Messrs. Warham and 
 Wix's business announced, on behalf of 
 his firm, another donation of 200/., stat- 
 ing that their losses were amply covered 
 by insurance. 
 
 The Mayor then rose to make another 
 statement. He was happy to inform them 
 that no life had been lost in the fire. He 
 held in his hand two depositions, taken 
 by himself that morning, which satisfac- 
 torily, though sadly, accounted for the 
 death of poor Mrs. Benson. They were 
 made by the girl her daughter, and the 
 brave lad who had saved the girl's life — 
 both lying hurt, and the girl, he feared, se- 
 riously, in the hospital. She had deposed 
 that her mother had had a worse fainting- 
 fit than usual at tea ; that she, the girl,
 
 158 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 had fallen asleep while reading in her 
 mother's bedroom, and was woke by the 
 dropping of her book, but observed it did 
 not wake her mother, who was a very 
 light sleeper : thought nothing of this at 
 the time, but cannot help connecting it 
 with what she has heard since. The sub- 
 stance of the lad's deposition has been 
 already told ; and both were confirmed 
 by the opinion of Dr, Eesp, that the 
 fainting-fits to which Mrs. Benson was 
 hable were likely at some time to ter- 
 minate her hfe suddenly. The only casual- 
 ties, the Mayor contmued, were the two 
 already mentioned, and a poor tramp, 
 whose shoulder-blade had been broken by 
 a falHng timber. 
 
 " We may congratulate our friend here, 
 and ourselves, who could ill spare him, 
 that a fourth has not been added," he 
 continued, pointing to Dr. Resp, who ap-
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. 159 
 
 peared with a huge " bar smister" of black 
 plaster across his forehead. 
 
 A worthy citizen here expressed his 
 hope that the orphan girl and her rescuer 
 would be first taken care of out of the 
 fund. 
 
 On this the Rector rose, and said he 
 believed he might state that neither of 
 them would need the kindness which the 
 public, he doubted not, would freely offer. 
 He had that morning seen Dr. Digam, 
 whom delicacy of feeling prevented from 
 being present. He was not now at liberty 
 to say what passed respectmg the lad j 
 he would only add that the girl had long 
 been a favourite scholar of Mrs. Bythe- 
 sea's schoolmistress ; and should they re- 
 cover, of which he was glad to say there 
 was every prospect, there was no doubt 
 that both would be seen to. 
 
 On this, another hearty cheer. In
 
 160 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 fact, the heart of Netherton seemed on 
 this day to be in its mouth ; the noble 
 conduct of the Doctor and his scholars 
 had rolled off the cloud, and everyone 
 was pleased with everyone else. 
 
 At the close, the Mayor announced 
 that the subscription - list mounted up to 
 over 800/. 
 
 But that mysterious bank-note frorn 
 Exeter ? Often was the envelope ex- 
 amined, and heads were laid together ; 
 but no solution appeared. 
 
 The meeting had broken up, and only 
 a few of the " dons" were standing toge- 
 ther in knots, when there burst into the 
 room Amy Podger, all of a heat and 
 out of breath. 
 
 " Pleaze, sir, — gen'l'men, I me-an, — I be 
 come to know where the crowner's quest 
 be to sit on my mother's poor gen'l'- 
 man ?"
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. 161 
 
 "Crowner's quest, my girl!" said the 
 astonished Mayor ; " why, he's not dead, 
 that we know of." 
 
 "Ay, but a be, though. Hur split off 
 to the vier 'bout nme o'clock, and uz never 
 been zeed zunce." 
 
 "Not quite that. Amy," answered Dr. 
 Resp; "I saw him myself at the hospital, 
 where he stayed several hours, and didn't 
 leave till past one." 
 
 " Then I'll go there and zee vor'n ; vor 
 mother's teaking on turble 'bout'n. He 
 war nashun good to we, that a v/ar, what- 
 ever's gone wi' un." 
 
 And Amy swung out, one great red 
 arm wiping the face with the apron, the 
 other working beside her like a pump- 
 handle. 
 
 ^ ijp ^ ^ 
 
 " I thmk I've got it, Mr. Mayor," said 
 Mr. Warham; " don't you ?" 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 NETHERTON-ON SEA. 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder if I had," answered 
 the Mayor. 
 
 w tP tt at 
 
 A meeting of the masters at the school 
 had been appointed for the 6th of Novem- 
 ber, at which the decision of the mathe- 
 matical master respecting the annual prize 
 essay was to be given. The time fixed for 
 the meeting was one o'clock, when the 
 three masters nearly at the same time 
 appeared in Dr. Digam's study. 
 
 On the present occasion, Mr. Heckswy 
 arrived a few mmutes after his two col- 
 leagues, and at once greeted the Doctor. 
 " Well, sir, this will have been an eventful 
 day in more senses than one." 
 
 " How so, Mr. Heckswy?" 
 
 "Why, sir, I have to produce before 
 you a most extraordinary result of the 
 contest for the astronomy prize essay. 
 Here is one, I may venture to say, of
 
 THE DAY APTER THE FIEE. 163 
 
 surpassing merit, and worthy even of pub- 
 lication as a separate treatise on the popular 
 history of the science. I had no idea we 
 had such material amono; the scholars. Of 
 course I have not opened the sealed paper; 
 but here is the envelope, bearing the same 
 motto as the essay, an odd one enough, — 
 Pax vohiscumy 
 
 " From what I gather, then," said the 
 Doctor, "you have no doubt about your 
 decision?" 
 
 " None whatever. Doctor; not one of the 
 other essays comes anywhere near this, in 
 any point. Even were the matter of less note, 
 the diagrams and illustrations are so beau- 
 tiful, that it would merit special notice." 
 
 " I think, Mr. Timins," said the Doctor, 
 " that after so decided an opinion, we may 
 venture to open the envelope. Will you, 
 if you see no objection, kindly perform that 
 office for us?"
 
 164 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 And the great white hand was reached out, 
 and after a moment's curious inspection of 
 the dehcately-written superscription out- 
 side, the envelope was torn open. To the 
 surprise of his two colleagues, Mr. Timins 
 burst into a loud fit of laughter, handing 
 at the same time the open paper to the 
 Doctor, who, leaning towards Mr. Heckswy, 
 shared the inspection with him. The mer- 
 riment was general, No name appeared; 
 but instead of one, a cleverly-etched figure 
 of a boy in rags looking through a tele- 
 scope. 
 
 " Well," said the Doctor, " there can be 
 little doubt who this is : no other than our 
 rao-o-ed friend Pak, the hero of No-man's 
 Land, and of the pier-head." 
 
 On this Mr. Hecksw}^ rubbed his hands 
 with dehght, and exclaimed, "I've said a 
 hundred times that that scarecrow had 
 genius in him."
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE riEE. 165 
 
 " But I forgot," said tlie Doctor gravely ; 
 " perhaps you don't know that he was ter- 
 ribly injured last night in the fire, and is 
 now lying in the hospital." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, sir," answered 
 Mr. Timins, " the matter before us was so 
 new and strange, that I beheve we both 
 had forgotten the circumstance. But the 
 scholars sent, sir, the first thing this morn- 
 ing to inquire at the hospital, and the 
 answer was, that he was more stunned than 
 hurt, and that the Mayor was there taking 
 his deposition about poor Mrs. Benson's 
 death. The girl, they said, was a worse 
 case, as her thigh was broken ; but she 
 too was not doing otherwise than well, and 
 the Mayor had been with her likewise." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Timins," said the 
 Doctor ; " your intelligence is a rehef to 
 me ; for, you see, we are in two diffi- 
 culties. Supposing this essay to be osten-
 
 166 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 sibly his, first we have to ascertam whether 
 he is within the number of those admissible 
 to compete; and, secondly, we must make 
 sure that the work is really his own. You 
 are aware that the strange old gentleman 
 with whom he lives is a devotee to science ; 
 and we ouo:ht to be sure whether or not 
 he has had a hand in this essay. Xow this 
 can only be ascertained by examining the 
 lad himself; and therefore I am glad to 
 hear that he can be examined. The former 
 point can be cleared up here on the spot. 
 — Mr. Hecksw}^, mil you be good enough 
 to read us the notice concerning the prize, 
 which has been up in the school for the 
 last six months ?" 
 
 The nimble person addressed disap- 
 peared in quest of the notice. An eager 
 group was standing near the school-door. 
 As Mr. Heckswy snatched at the notice- 
 board, he cried out to them, " Close as
 
 THE DAY AFTEE THE FIEE. 167 
 
 wax, my lads, close as wax ; but I 
 shouldn't wonder if you're all sold !" 
 
 One boy alone left the group, and made 
 rather eagerly for the door at the farther 
 end of the school, leadmg into the street. 
 The rest looked one on another in hopeless 
 bewilderment, as Mr. H. again disappeared 
 into the study, with the notice-board under 
 his arm. 
 
 " A prize of three guineas, or its worth 
 in scientific books, is hereby offered by the 
 three masters to any boy who shall pro- 
 duce the best essay on the history and 
 present state of the science of astronomy. 
 The essay — " 
 
 " That'U do, Mr. Heckswy. Then the 
 competition was clearly open to all the 
 world; it does not say any scholar or any 
 boy in the Netherton Grammar - school ; 
 but it's as wide as young Adam." 
 
 "Hear, hear," from Mr. Heckswy.
 
 168 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 "Very good of you, sir," said Mr. 
 Timins, " to construe it so ; but might we 
 not take the view, that on a notice exposed 
 in a school, ' any boy' means ' any boy in 
 that school' ?" 
 
 " Perhaps we might, if we were so dis- 
 posed ; and we may have to fall back on 
 your interpretation as the more delicate 
 mode of repelling the essay, if it turn out 
 that the crazy philosopher, as people call 
 him, had much hand in it. But I must 
 say I hope not ; for I have long had my 
 eye on this queer lad, and I really beheve 
 him to be a boy of great abihty ; and what 
 is more curious, not only to be worthy of 
 culture, but somehow or other to have 
 acquired it." 
 
 " I believe, sir," said Mr. Heckswy, " I 
 can almost relieve you a priori from any 
 suspicion about the authorship. The whole 
 essay, though excellent, is juvenile — the
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE FIEE. 169 
 
 work of a boy full of vigour and genius, 
 but, at the same time, written in a some- 
 what crude and inexperienced style ; and 
 the drawings show all the firmness and 
 dash of a young and vigorous hand. Look 
 here, sir," he said, as he opened on a 
 spirited etching of Galileo writmg '"'' Eppur 
 si muove^^ on the walls of his prison. 
 
 "Well, I hope and believe it; but I 
 should like, if they'll let me, to see the 
 boy, and hear for myself.'' 
 
 On this the meeting broke up, and 
 the Doctor set off for the hospital. 
 
 Pak, after due examination, had at 
 once been placed in the convalescent ward. 
 He was shaken and bruised, and for the 
 present had, by Dr. Resp's orders, to lie 
 in bed; but there was nothing really the 
 matter. He had sufficiently got over the 
 excitement of the night to have had some 
 refreshing sleep, having been reassured by
 
 170 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 hearing that Emmy, though with a frac- 
 tured limb, was going on well, and that 
 he should be taken to see her as soon as 
 he could get up. 
 
 Almost as soon as he had arrived, the 
 strange gentleman had been inquiring for 
 him, and by Dr. Resp's orders was ad- 
 mitted. Whatever passed between them 
 was in a whisper. The gentleman had 
 also been to see Emmy, and on his way 
 back to report her condition, had made 
 kmd inquiries at the bedside of the tramp, 
 whose shoulder had been broken. The 
 two faces met, and there was a start — 
 as far as one so closely splintered up can 
 be said to start. The suiferer said softly, 
 but in a quick and agitated tone, "Who'd 
 have thought to see you here, my 1 — ?" 
 
 By this time Tiffy was at the bed's 
 head, and gently but firmly laid his hand 
 on the man's mouth. Whether the nurse
 
 THE DAY AFTEE THE FIKE. 171 
 
 in attendance had heard, he was not sure; 
 but after sayuig some words, low and in 
 a kind tone, to the man, and slipping 
 something under the bedclothes for him, 
 he shook hands with the astonished nurse, 
 leaving a substantial memorial of the greet- 
 ing, and saying, " If you heard what that 
 man said, it will be worth your while to 
 be silent : — and take care of the boy." So 
 saying, he went to Pak's bed, and some 
 more words passed, after which he de- 
 parted. 
 
 This visit seemed to soothe the lad 
 wonderfully. He was not in the least 
 agitated on the Mayor coming to make 
 his inquiry, and had answered the ques- 
 tions without deviating from his former 
 account. He was now lying quietly, pon- 
 dering over the strange events which had 
 brought about this new situation. 
 
 But this day was destined to be one
 
 172 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 of stirring events, and Pak was not ex- 
 empted from the common lot of Nether- 
 tonians. The house-surgeon had just left 
 the ward, and returned leading in a 
 boy. 
 
 " Here he is," said he. " Now you 
 may just go and speak to him; but you 
 mustn't stay more than two minutes." 
 
 " I say, Pak, we heard you were killed; 
 but never mind that. I think it's all 
 right about the prize." 
 
 " You don't say that, Brayley?" 
 
 "Well, I only know this, that Heck- 
 swy came and took the notice-board in to 
 the Doctor, and wouldn't peach, but said, 
 ' Shouldn't wonder if you're all sold after 
 all.' Now what can that mean but that 
 you've got it?" 
 
 "0 no," said Pak, " it means nothing 
 of the kind. It means that they don't 
 wish to adjudge any prize because none
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. 173 
 
 are good enough; and they wanted the 
 notice-board to see whether they were 
 obliged to give one." 
 
 "Well, all I can say is, the fellows 
 didn't seem to think so. As I went out 
 I heard your name five or six times. — 
 Hallo, here comes the Doctor, as true as 
 I'm alive !" And so it was, sure enough. 
 
 Pak had had many a look from the 
 head-master, but never a word before. 
 However, there was both real and studied 
 kindness in the look and manner, and he 
 was soon put at his ease. 
 
 " My good boy," said the Doctor, " first 
 of all, you're a noble fellow. Let me 
 begin by saying that." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, sir," said the lad, 
 "svith an Jionest glow on his face. No 
 one had praised him before. 
 
 " Then, next, did you write that essay 
 all yourself?"
 
 174 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " Every word of it, sir." 
 
 "And Mr. Tiffin did not help you?" 
 
 " 0, sir, lie has helped me in every- 
 thing, and I owe all I ever knew to him; 
 but he didn't do a word of that. This 
 boy Brayle}^ told me one day in No-man's 
 Land that the prize was offered, and I 
 told my — that is, I told Mr. Tiffin, 
 and he showed me what to read; and I 
 wrote it all. Please, sir, he's never 
 seen it." 
 
 "That'll do, my lad; then I have to 
 tell you that the prize is yours." 
 
 Pak's eyes swam, and his heart thumped 
 in his throat. 
 
 " Would you like to come among us 
 at the school, my boy ?" 
 
 " yes, sir, of all things." 
 
 " Then as soon as you are out from 
 here you shall come. I'll make it all 
 smooth. I owe you something in re-
 
 THE DAY AFTER THE FIRE. 
 
 175 
 
 turn for your fall, which we occasioned, 
 
 and in return for your noble self-sacri- 
 fice." 
 
 "Please, sir, I can only thank you 
 
 now 
 
 V
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 
 
 'HE rectory was close to the 
 church, and like it rather 
 massive and media3val. There 
 were peaked gables, and mulhoned win- 
 dows not admittino; too much lio:ht, and 
 a pretty old-fashioned porch, with an illu- 
 mmated scroll in stone, Deo et amicis. 
 The house was nearly covered with 
 creepers of various kinds; a cloth-of-gold 
 rose perfumed in summer the garden side 
 of it ; clematis, yellow jasmine, ivy, and 
 Virginian creeper, each asserted its claun 
 to a portion of the walls and porch. 
 Immediately opposite the front door, across
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 177 
 
 the gravel road, was the little gate into 
 the churchyard ; to the left a short drive 
 led to the street entrance. Over this 
 drive, and the shrubs, was seen the church ; 
 and to the rio;ht, stretchino; far back from 
 the churchyard, lay the pretty garden, with 
 its gay parterres, and its smooth croquet- 
 lawn : in summer as bright a bit of ground 
 as Netherton, or even Overton, boasted. 
 
 Emmy's window looked out on this 
 same garden ; and very refreshing it was 
 to her to gaze on the soft green grass 
 and spring flowers, after her four months 
 of whitewashed walls. Her room was 
 neatly furnished, though without much 
 taste. An ugly yellow paper hung on 
 the walls ; a chest of drawers, washing- 
 stand, and table, painted green, and a blue 
 iron bedstead, were the prominent objects; 
 and, a redeeming point which should not 
 be forgotten, a pretty new bookcase, the 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 Rector's gift. The shelves were nearly 
 empty as yet, their only tenants being 
 three books which Mrs. Bythesea had 
 placed there as useful reading for her 
 little protegee^ to wit, Locke on the Human 
 Understanding^ Paley's Evidences^ and Bax- 
 ter's Saints' Rest. Of these Emmy took 
 to the last-named very well, but the two 
 former made her head ache, which Mrs. B. 
 excused at present on the plea of weak 
 health. 
 
 At first the little girl was very grateful 
 and happy. The repose, and good food, 
 and daily drives with her patroness soon 
 brought back the roses to her cheeks ; but 
 with returning health and spirits returned 
 also a longing for her old friends and free- 
 dom. She pined for Pak, and Bones, and 
 her old rambles. But it was not to be. 
 Mrs. Bythesea had strict notions as to the 
 bringing up of young ladies — for such she
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 179 
 
 intended Emmy to be — and was shocked at 
 the idea of their ever goin^ out alone. 
 The good Rector, with all his clerical 
 dignity, was much less particular, and often 
 felt for the child ; but years' experience 
 had taught him in this, as in other things, 
 not to interfere with his wife's manag-e- 
 ment. She had taken wonderfully to the 
 girl, so he thought it best to let her alone, 
 and quietly to pursue his usual policy, 
 slily to hint improvements, or even to dis- 
 parage and discourage them in h3^pothesis, 
 till his wife fancied them her own suof- 
 gestion, and him their opponent. 
 
 Poor little Emmy ! this new-found 
 "aunt" (it was happy this name was 
 thought of, for "mother" she could never 
 call her) was the dead fly in her cup of 
 comfort. She grated on her daily. One 
 morning, during a round of visits to poor 
 cottagers, an incident occurred which
 
 180 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 aroused Emmy's wrath, and caused her 
 to speak unadvisedly with her hps, for 
 which she was deeply penitent the minute 
 after. Mrs. Bythesea, seeing her looking 
 miserable, resolved to reward her for con- 
 fessing her error by allowing her for once 
 to go out alone, she herself being too tired 
 to accomjDany her. Off sprang Emmy at 
 the first word — had on her hat and jacket 
 in a minute, and was on her way before 
 there was time to retract the permission. 
 
 With more life in her than she had felt 
 for many a day, she sped along the streets 
 to " ]^o-man's Land," thinking that a likely 
 place to find Pak among the Grammar- 
 school boys. She went like one who didn't 
 care to be recognised, and fortunately met 
 no one whom she knew. But when she 
 reached the spot, no one was there except 
 a few of Pak's former ragged pla^Tiiates, 
 from whom every feeling caused her to
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 181 
 
 shrink. Then first she remembered it was 
 Saturday, and the bigger boys would be off 
 to the chffs and far away, beyond the reach 
 of her weakened powers. So she turned 
 her steps to the beach, and walked along 
 rather dejectedly by the water's edge, with 
 her dreamiest look in her eyes; when she 
 was suddenly startled by a joyous shout, 
 " Hallo ! it's Emmy, by all that's charm- 
 ino- !" and at the same time she became 
 conscious of a vociferous barkino- close to 
 her, and of some four-footed creature 
 smothering her with caresses. The dreamy 
 look was gone in a moment; and sparkling 
 eyes and blushing cheeks metamorphosed 
 the little maiden into a picture of health 
 and happiness. 
 
 "0, this is jolly!" cried Pak : "how 
 often have Bones and I kept watch on that 
 piece of rock on half-holidays in vain ! — But 
 we're all right at last, old fellow ;" patting
 
 182 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 the dog's head ; " and you were the first to 
 cry ' found,' weren't you, my boy ? — For 
 we take it in turns, you know, Emmy. I'm 
 getting up Italian out of school, so we 
 watch half-an-hour at a time ; when Bones's 
 turn is on, I do Italian, and when my turn 
 is on. Bones stretches his legs and scuds 
 after the rabbits." 
 
 Emmy laughed merrily at his descrip- 
 tion of their watch for her, with no small 
 satisfaction that she had not been forgotten 
 all this time. She thanked Bones pro- 
 fusely, patting and hugging him, and 
 finally kissing the little white patch on 
 his grisly forehead. Pak put in his claim, 
 as captain of the watch, for a share of the 
 payment ; perhaps he had his way, for it 
 is certain that they were all very happy 
 too-ether. After the first excitement of 
 the meeting was over, Pak proposed that 
 they should walk a little farther on the
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 183 
 
 beach, and then chmb to a pretty little 
 cave a short way up the face of the cliff, 
 where Emmy would be sheltered from the 
 cold east wind, and they could have a cosy 
 talk over their experiences since last they 
 met. Their meetings in the hospital had 
 been so short and so public, that they had 
 scarcely had a confidential chat since that 
 memorable one on the cliff. 
 
 " Well, little woman, and how do you 
 like your quarters?" 
 
 " 0, everyone is very kind to me," she 
 answered, with rather a dreary sigh ; "I 
 have plenty to eat and drink" ("Important 
 item, eh. Bones ?" put in Pak) ; " and I have 
 a room to myself, looking out on a pretty 
 garden, and a carriage to drive in " ("Ah, 
 that beats us, Bones," said Pak, with an air 
 of mock dejection) ; " and that's about all, 
 you silly goose !" ended Emmy, laughing 
 in spite of herself at his bright hilarity.
 
 184 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 " And shall I tell you what Bones and 
 I twig out of all that, my poor Emmy ?" 
 said the lad m quite another tone. "We 
 twig that the dejected little maiden we 
 watched just now wandering solitarily along 
 the sea-shore has but a dreary time of it, 
 and would fain be back in the dear old 
 cottage, rather than driving about in the 
 rectory carriage." 
 
 " yes, I should think so, with my 
 sweet mother again, and you ! But I can't 
 ^vish her back; and it's really very kind of 
 the Rector and his wife to adopt me as they 
 have done. Only sometimes I feel so dull ! 
 If I could only have Bones, I shouldn't mind 
 so much." 
 
 " I'll promise you him, anyhow," said 
 Pak, " but you must pave the way ; you 
 must tell them to-night about him. Be 
 very eloquent, mind, for he really is quite 
 a hero. TeU them what I am telling you
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 185 
 
 for the first time, — how he followed me 
 devotedly into your cottage that terrible 
 night ; how in trjdng to make his way out 
 he got buried under some plastering that 
 fell, and one heavier piece than the rest 
 broke his leg; how he subsisted on what 
 he could pick up in that neighbourhood for 
 a few days, not being able to limp far- 
 ther ; how kind Dr. Resp found him, and 
 bandaged his leg, and took care of him in 
 his own house ; and how the poor little 
 beo-o^ar, as soon as he was master of his 
 legs again, trotted off to Mrs. Podger's, 
 lookino; for me, where he remained in a 
 state of restless expectation for a day or 
 two, and on my not appearing, started off 
 on his travels again, and finally walked 
 into our playground with dejected tail 
 and melancholy mien ; but on seeing me, 
 got so boisterously happy, that the good 
 Doctor, who witnessed this ebullition of
 
 186 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 feeling, hadn't the heart to send hhn away. 
 So with me he has remained on sufferance 
 till now ; but I assure you he is too great 
 a responsibility, for I know many of the 
 chaps would torment him if I didn't watch 
 him like a father. So I'm really glad to 
 turn him over to you, Emmy. Amy 
 Podger shall bring him to the rectory to- 
 morrow with the story of his woes, you 
 having descanted on them overnight.'' 
 
 Pak's plan was successfully carried out, 
 the Rector taking to the poor doggie at 
 once — his wife requiring a little talking 
 over, and giving in at last, on seeing how 
 much Emmy cared for it. So Bones fol- 
 lowed Emmy's fortunes to the end of the 
 chapter, to the mutual satisfaction of both 
 parties. 
 
 But to return to the two in the cave. 
 Pak told Emmy of his school-life ; of his 
 growing friendship for Mr. Heckswy, and
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 187 
 
 of his own ardent ambitious longings to do 
 somethino; in the world. 
 
 " You mustn't be surprised, Emmy, if 
 you hear of my disappearance some day. I 
 can't always stick down in a little hole like 
 this Netherton. Life is short nowadays ; 
 if I could reckon on the centuries of those 
 patriarchs in your book, it would be another 
 thino; ; but as there's no such time allowed 
 for work now, I think I shall be up and 
 doing as soon as I can. It's hard lines a 
 fellow wasn't born in those Methuselah 
 days !" 
 
 " Why, Pak, you forget what you've got 
 to start with. Their life wouldn't have 
 been half long enough for them to get up 
 to where you are now." 
 
 " Well, there's some truth in that : ' I 
 the heir of all the ages, in the foremost 
 files of time,' as our captain is always 
 spouting. But for all that, I feel restless
 
 188 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 and eager, as if I ought to do something, 
 and must not loiter on the way. So I 
 think I shall be off as soon as the Doctor 
 has put into me all I can hold. Don't be 
 afraid, little woman : there, now don't pull 
 your hat-string all to pieces ; I shall always 
 have you in my breast-pocket (and there 
 sha'n't be a hole in it, either) ; and perhaps 
 some day, if she isn't too grand a lady to 
 look at me, I shall come home and fetch 
 my little wife to share my work with 
 me. So you must learn all you can, 
 and keep bright and happy, for Pak's 
 sake." 
 
 " Well, I'll engage to try ; but I must 
 confess I don't care about my lessons 
 now, so I'm afraid I shall never know 
 half enough for you." 
 
 " You know more than half enouo;h 
 already, Emmy; you have a very thought- 
 ful forehead of your own, but Bones and I
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 180 
 
 suspect that madame down there turns all 
 the lessons sour." 
 
 " Well," laughed Emmy, " you and 
 Bones are very shrewd between you, espe- 
 cially Bones. Shall I tell you how I pass 
 my days ?" 
 
 " Yes, do ; I want to know all about 
 you." 
 
 " Well, then, I rise at half-past six ; for 
 Mrs. B. says young ladies should take an 
 hour to dress, and spend half an hour at 
 their devotions. I don't mind that, but I 
 shock her sometimes by carrying my Bible 
 into the garden, and joining my praises 
 with those of the flowers and birds. That 
 is my happiest time in all the day, so I 
 asked her to let me get up earlier, so as 
 to have time for both. Then after break- 
 fast, Mrs. B. examines me in the Catechism, 
 and makes me repeat remarks out of a book 
 of moral precepts ; but they seem cold after
 
 190 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 my bright little service with the birds and 
 flowers. We study till twelve, dry things 
 enough, mostly questions and answers in 
 geography, history, and grammar ; then 
 till one, I either walk in the garden, which 
 I like, or go to see poor people with Mrs. 
 B., which I don't hke. In the afternoon, I 
 sew for an hour every sort of work, because 
 ' young ladies should be notable.' By and 
 by, she says, I am to learn music and 
 drawing, because ' young ladies should be 
 accomplished,' and also languages, in case 
 I should travel ; and the homely art of 
 cookery, because 'young women should be 
 handy.' And this sort of thing goes on 
 until (it's wrong, I know) I get to hate 
 myself and all I do. I never thought 
 myself ' a young woman ' before ; and all 
 I did for mother, or for you, I did from 
 love, and loved to do it. But now — ah, poor 
 little me ! yet Mrs. Bythesea is very good
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 191 
 
 to me, and I'm an ungrateful creature, I 
 fear." 
 
 " Did you ever read Aurora Leigh, my 
 forlorn little maiden ? Your account re- 
 minds me of the rigid aunt there, whose 
 hard propriety made poor Aurora's spirit 
 droop. By the bye, do you ever read 
 poetry ?" 
 
 " dear no, Mrs. Bythesea says poetry 
 enervates, and that I am too sentimental 
 already, and want hardening." 
 
 " Well, that is rich ! No wonder you 
 looked such a dejected little object, wander- 
 ing on that curve of sea- weed." 
 
 "0," said Emmy, with a bright loving- 
 glance, " that was only the fear of not 
 seeing you, as we may not get another walk 
 alone for many a long day." 
 
 No need to tell what happened on this 
 very candid confession of Emmy's, but if 
 Bones or the sea-birds understood English
 
 192 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 they might liave heard some such words 
 as these — " You little darling ! it's worth 
 living for, after all, to make you so 
 happy !" 
 
 " Well, then," Emmy laughed on, " you 
 may have a little more of that same plea- 
 sure, for I want to tell you what happened 
 this mornmg ; telling my troubles to you 
 makes it so much easier to bear them. I 
 said I didn't like visiting the poor with 
 Mrs. B., and I saw you look surprised. 
 But, Pak, it's dreadful to me ! She is for 
 ever blaming them, and takes care to make 
 out that however poor, or ill, or unhappy 
 they are, it's all their own fault. I think 
 she's talking at me all the time ; for she 
 always relieves them after she has abused 
 them well. Well, this morning we went to 
 Paradise-place : just the end of the parish, 
 you know. Mrs. Podger she never blesses 
 with her presence, having found her, I
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 193 
 
 fancy, on one occasion, as you say, ' too 
 many ' for her. But we went into the 
 first and most ruinous of the cottages, and 
 whom should I see, creeping along slowly 
 in the cabbage-garden, but Johnny Jay, 
 my little friend in the hospital, of whom 
 I told you. I saw his cheeks were very 
 Hushed, and his little legs tottering, so I 
 ran to him, and put my arm round him, 
 to help him on; and he looked so delighted 
 to see me. But he was nearly faint with 
 the exertion ; so his poor widowed mother 
 ran towards us, and together we laid him 
 on his pallet, and I smoothed his bright 
 hair, and gave him some water to drink, 
 stooping to kiss the little white forehead m 
 doing so. I suppose my outre conduct, 
 as she called it afterwards, made the Rec- 
 toress particularly bitter in her remarks ; 
 but I had to bite my lips to keep down my 
 anger. In the coldest and harshest way, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 NETHEKTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 she told poor Mrs. Jay tliat her conduct 
 proved her void of all motherly affection. 
 In the first place, she had selfishly had 
 Johnny home from the hospital long before 
 he should have been moved, meaning him to 
 be a burden on the rectory charities ; and 
 secondly, she took no care of him, but let 
 him walk out when he ought not to leave 
 his bed ; that doubtless he would have 
 a relapse, and probably would die ; and 
 she very likely would congratulate her- 
 self on having one mouth less to feed ! 
 Fancy it — the mother's burning face, and 
 proudly - suppressed tears, and look of 
 anguish towards her pet boy ; and 
 Johnny's weak efforts to plead his mother's 
 cause ! I never felt so angry in my life ; 
 I spoke out recklessly, my voice trembling 
 mth indignation. I told my benefactress 
 that she was a hard, cruel woman, and 
 that she didn't know what it was to be
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 195 
 
 shut up in a sick-ward for months, or 
 she would understand better the longing 
 for home and a breath of sea-air ; and a 
 great deal more I said, — bitter, angry 
 words, I know, though I can't remember 
 Avhat; but at last I broke down, and burst 
 out crying; on which Mrs. B. swept out 
 of the cottage, saying quietly, ' Emmy, 
 we had better go home, I think.' I felt 
 so angry and so penitent all in one, that 
 I turned my back and left the poor people 
 without speaking a word. I asked her 
 forgiveness as soon as words would come, 
 and it quite eased me to confess how 
 passionate and ungrateful I had been. 
 She was really very kind ; and when I 
 told her what friends Johnny and I had 
 been in the hospital, she sent him up 
 some nice dinner, and half-a-crown to get 
 anything he fancied. But I want you, 
 Pak, to go and see him for me some
 
 196 
 
 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 day, and give him my love, and tell him 
 I'm sorry for my angry words ; and tell 
 him, too, that though I turned away 
 coldly, I didn't mean to forget him." 
 
 Pak promised to see to the youngster, 
 and well he kept his promise. 
 
 The sun was westering now, and Emmy 
 knew she must be going. Both had a 
 presentiment that it would be long before 
 they should have such another meeting. 
 They descended from the cliff, and walked 
 across the shinino- sands to the edo-e of 
 
 O o 
 
 the ebbing tide. There they stood for 
 some minutes ; the one preparing to ask 
 what the other was certain he should 
 have to answer. 
 
 " Pak," said Emmy at last, " I wonder 
 whether, after the fire and our wonderful 
 escapes, and good fortune since, you now 
 think there's a Providence that takes care 
 of us ?"
 
 THE TALK ON THE BEACH. 197 
 
 She looked at him pleadingly with 
 those eyes, of which he knew the shining 
 depths, and every gem that sparkled 
 there : and he returned her gaze, not un- 
 moved, but unflinching. 
 
 " Little woman, I can't bear to grieve 
 you ; but I'm afraid I'm not much altered. 
 There must be some Power that keeps 
 all nature in harmony : but whether it 
 is a Law, or a Person, passes me to 
 comprehend. One thing I feel more 
 than I did since I have mixed more 
 with others, and read books ; and that 
 is, the immense difference between good 
 people and bad. But we won't discuss 
 these matters now. You are my good 
 little angel ; and if you keep steady to 
 me, I may get right in time." 
 
 " Never fear my keeping steady," said 
 the earnest little maid ; " you are mother 
 and brother to me, and I owe you my
 
 198 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 life itself. And," she added, speaking low, 
 — as women can, when they pour in their 
 sweetest drops of comfort, and their very 
 frame seems surrounded with light — " and 
 I feel so certain that you will come right 
 in the end, that I thank God for it every 
 day I hve." 
 
 And then the faces drew together, and 
 there was something of a vow, and its 
 seal ; and Bones, who had sat, as became 
 him, solemnly for the last few minutes, 
 jumped, and tumbled, and scoured onward 
 in over-joyous approval. 
 
 Thus they parted by the rippling tide, 
 going their divers ways refreshed ; Pak to 
 his eager school-life, and Emmy to the 
 quiet Eectory.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 T could hardly be, that Pak should 
 have remained in outward ap- 
 pearance and habits unaltered 
 through all that had lately come upon 
 him. In truth, a considerable change 
 had set in. At his entrance into the 
 school, this would be a matter of course ; 
 but the change had begun long before. 
 The softenmg and brightening influence 
 of Emmy — to say nothing of certain not- 
 able fingers, young and old, in Factory- 
 lane while it yet stood — had told upon 
 him, and had caused the disappearance 
 of those shreds and patches for which he
 
 200 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 had once been eminent. However, this 
 had been done in strict uniformity to the 
 schoolman's maxim, " Quidquid recipitur^ 
 in modiim recipientis recipitur^^^ — " What- 
 ever is received, must be received after 
 the fashion of the recipient." It is not 
 to be supposed that he ever thought 
 about it ; certainly no one had lectured 
 him on the matter, or it could never 
 have come about as it did. As it was, 
 gradual improvements during the year in 
 which he had known Emmy put him, in 
 most respects, on a level with other boys 
 in outward appearance. But there was 
 one matter in which he insisted on main- 
 taining his singularity. No Scotchman 
 could more value the privilege of going 
 barefoot. For a privilege he counted it, 
 to be free from those close and cramping 
 cases into which we squeeze and distort 
 our feet, to feel the fresh air of heaven
 
 DEVELOPMENT. 201 
 
 ever blowing round them, and to be 
 sensible of their hold on the ground, and 
 their spring of unfettered motion. He 
 had great theories about this, which have 
 since been propounded by much more 
 eminent persons : that, if the practice of 
 going barefoot were more general in 
 England, much expense might be saved 
 to the lower classes, and much delicacy 
 of frame to the hig-her. These theories he 
 used to propound, after his wild fashion, 
 to Emmy ; and in all such matters she 
 looked up to him with wonder at his 
 strange original fancies ; but I don't know 
 that he ever got farther with her in prac- 
 tice, than to tempt her to a timid paddle 
 among the pools at low water, or an un- 
 shod stroll over the clean warm sand. 
 
 But to return to himself. Until his 
 reception into the school, he never put 
 on stocking or shoe. It was easy, of late
 
 202 NETHEETON-ON-SEA. 
 
 at all events, to see that this was done 
 not from poverty, but of purpose. Those 
 who have been in Scotland, and have seen 
 the clean fresh well-to-do girls and boys 
 tripping to school, will know what such 
 a description means. Even more than the 
 difference between the begrimed and the 
 pure hand, is that between the neglected 
 and the well-kept foot ; for it is the more 
 beautiful member of the two. 
 
 When he entered the school. Dr. Digam, 
 after listening to all he had to say on this 
 point, merely bargained that on all public 
 occasions he should appear like the rest ; 
 adding, " As to the schoolroom and play- 
 ground, if you can stand their chaffing, 
 do as you like — only I suspect you will 
 soon give in." However, the Doctor was 
 mistaken. The loose conventional slippers, 
 put on for going up in class, were as often 
 as not kicked off when he sat at his
 
 DEVELOPMENT. 203 
 
 desk ; and in the playground, at every 
 game, excej)t football, the old practice was 
 kept up. Chaif of course there was m 
 abundance at first ; but it soon subsided, 
 mainly by the influence of growing re- 
 spect, also because it was not a very safe 
 thing to carry chaff with Pak farther 
 than he chose to have it carried. He 
 could hit out very straight, and once or 
 twice had performed this process rather 
 unexpectedly, which circumstance made 
 bullies and triflers be on their guard. 
 
 The general chaff concentrated itself 
 into a second nickname, relevant to the 
 practice, one in which the bearer of it 
 very good-naturedly acquiesced. By the 
 whole school Pak was known as " Toes." 
 Even the Doctor himself, who generally 
 used the more dignified appellation of 
 "the great Unshod," had been known, 
 in races and at cricket, to shout with
 
 204 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 the rest, " Now then, Toes !" " Well hit, 
 Toes !" 
 
 At last, as is the case mth most 
 tolerated eccentricities, it was liked, and 
 even looked for. Pak at cricket, or in 
 the boat, with shoes on, would have been 
 a strange omen, requiring skilful augury 
 to interpret. 
 
 To say that he got on well in the 
 school, — that he made his way, or the 
 like, — would be to tie down to common 
 words a course which defied all common 
 description. It was not getting on, for 
 the superiority was established the first 
 week, and never flagged ; nor was it 
 making way, for there was no way to 
 make. Time indeed was wanted for the 
 thews and sinews of knowledge to harden, 
 and become fit for constant use ; but know- 
 ledge itself was devoured with the fury 
 of an insatiable appetite ; and beauty of
 
 DEVELOPMENT. 205 
 
 thought, of diction, of rhythm, seemed 
 to produce a mental intoxication, and to 
 carry the young learner almost out of 
 himself. By the end of the first year in 
 the school, he was on a level with any 
 boy in the sixth, though not in gram- 
 matical acquaintance "with either Latin or 
 Greek, yet in power of appreciation, which 
 in him was almost instinctive, of great 
 thoughts and grand descriptions. It was 
 no uncommon thino; to see him stridino- 
 up and down the terraces of the South 
 Cliff, spouting, in the wild wind, over the 
 foamy sea below, his repetitions from 
 Virgil or the Iliad. Next year came the 
 Odyssey, even more glorious still ; and 
 before it was over, his most especial 
 favourite, Theocritus. He has been seen 
 sitting; on the rocks as the tide came 
 in, chanting, in Digam's peculiar wailing 
 cadences, the deep melodies of the pas-
 
 206 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 toral Sicilian, while the ripples lapped 
 ao;ainst the banks of seaweed, and the 
 fringed polypi swayed in the brimming 
 pools. 
 
 His mathematics were, as might be 
 expected, mere play to him. Indeed in 
 the ordinary mathematical school -work 
 he took no part. Mr. Hecks^y under- 
 took him con amove as a private pupil, 
 and found not much more necessary, than 
 to modernise the somewhat cumbrous pro- 
 cesses which he had acquired under his 
 former quaint instructor. 
 
 That a friendship soon sprang up be- 
 tween these two, was no wonder. Hecksw}^ 
 had from the first taken a fancy to the 
 lad ; and as his powers developed under 
 school treatment, the attachment became 
 closer and closer. It grew all the more, 
 because Pak certainly did not form friend- 
 ships among the boys. His was a general
 
 DEVELOPMENT. 207 
 
 popularity, arisino^ very much from his 
 prowess, mental and bodily ; but this was 
 quite compatible with personal dislike ; and 
 for any amount of this latter, the natural 
 jealousy with which his career was \'iewed 
 formed a substratum. Besides which, his 
 hasty temper had brought him into per- 
 sonal collision, at one time or other, with 
 nearly all his compeers ; and though pas- 
 sionate men are often strongly loved, they 
 are very seldom widely liked. Agam, 
 admiration is less contagious than dislike. 
 People persecute in flocks one whom thev 
 admire when alone. Pak in Netherton 
 School was more a phenomenon than a 
 power. The sixth were of course the 
 better for havins^ his o-enius amono; them : 
 but not so much better, as if it had been 
 by many degrees less eminent. Where 
 there is no rivalry, there is little imita- 
 tion. When our equal is slightly our
 
 208 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 superior, we are drawn on ; when he is 
 infinitely our superior, we are repelled. 
 Besides which, the sixth, proud, as a 
 sixth form ever ought to be, of their 
 school and " the Doctor," could never 
 kindly tolerate Pak's utter indifference to 
 school for school's sake. He never worked 
 into the system ; how then could he fra- 
 ternise with those who did ? Knowledge 
 and beauty — these were his building ; the 
 school was but the scaffolding ; and it 
 never struck him to be proud of it, or 
 to care for its good name. 
 
 It might well be supposed that there 
 was much in this character which would 
 rather grate on his good patron, the head- 
 master. Dr. Digam had taken hun up, 
 first from a noble sense of justice, and 
 then from real admiration of his extraor- 
 dinary and almost universal talent. No- 
 thing could exceed his substantial kind-
 
 DEVELOPMENT, 209 
 
 ness ; his just recognition of Pak's supe- 
 riority was not for a moment interrupted; 
 but it could never be said that the two 
 drew towards each other. The Doctor, 
 an able man of fine mind and high sym- 
 pathies, was yet essentially of the school. 
 It was a great ideal, which years had 
 erected, or perhaps rather had shed around 
 him as an atmosphere in which he lived 
 and moved, and had his being. Anyone 
 in it, and not seeing it as he did, would 
 not be likely to dwell very near his heart. 
 His different way of viewdng artificial 
 systems, brought Pak into still wider di- 
 vergence from the good Doctor. Their 
 social and political creeds were in an 
 antagonism hardly less than antipodal. 
 Pak's bringing-up had been almost mis- 
 anthropic ; and though his own good sense 
 and kindliness had very much corrected 
 this, yet it had left on him a thorough 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 disregard (for it was this, rather than con- 
 tempt) of all that men hold venerable. 
 This disregard, unhappily beginning, as 
 we have seen, at the highest objects of 
 veneration, extended down through kings 
 and kaisers, robes and raiments, fasts and 
 festivals — so that the Doctor, who was a 
 fervent lover of institutions for institutions' 
 sake, hardly ever found a point d^appui 
 in his pupil's mind, when such matters 
 were in treatment. 
 
 Of course Pak went to church with 
 the school on Smidays and festivals. On 
 the things there witnessed, he said hardly 
 anything, except to his intimate friend 
 Hecksw}^ Now and then he took part 
 in a school criticism on the sermon ; but 
 his remarks did not hit the fancy of the 
 sixth-form knowuig ones, being generally 
 on the logical non- cogency of certain 
 arouments, whereas theirs were on the
 
 DEVELOPMENT. 211 
 
 framino; in which the aro^uments had been 
 set. 
 
 Even on the very rare occasions when 
 he met Emmy, the great causes of their 
 difference were now hardly ever touched 
 on. She had, as we have heard, an enthu- 
 siastic faith that all would come right at 
 last ; and seeing it only irritated him to 
 be always dwelling on these topics, she 
 wisely, and with womanly tact, abstained 
 from them. 
 
 So grew this strange spirit during these 
 years ; evidently not amalgamating with 
 that which was around it, yet drawing 
 tribute from it all, and richer for it day 
 by day ; keeping in store for some con- 
 tingency which was speedily coming on 
 — none knew of what kind, or whither 
 tending. It was what ordinary persons 
 would call a prodigy, and perhaps would 
 set beyond the ordinary bounds of pro-
 
 212 NETHERTON-ON-SEA. 
 
 bability. But prodigies, at certain times 
 of life, are real things, not seldom found; 
 but seldom, indeed, carrying on to the end. 
 Certain flights and efforts of our humanity, 
 taken alone, seem to raise it above itself 
 in power ; but it is no uncommon thing 
 to find that the subject of this very eleva- 
 tion has been subdued by a word, and 
 has fallen almost below the rest of us in 
 weakness. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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