Fortitude | Page 3

soon, later in the
evening, he would take his beating like a man, and would not cry out as
he had done the last time. And then, at the thought of the beating, he
shivered a little on his tall chair and his two short legs in their black
stockings beat against the wooden bars, and wished that he might have
stayed in some dark corner of The Bending Mule during the rest of the
night and not go home until the morning--or, indeed, a very much
better and happier thing, never go home again at all. He would get a
worse beating for staying out so late, but it was something of a comfort
to reflect that he would have been beaten in any case; old Simon
Parlow, who taught him mathematics and Latin, with a little geography
and history during six days of the week, had given him that morning a
letter to his father directed in the old man's most beautiful handwriting
to the effect that Master Westcott had made no progress at all in his
sums during the last fortnight, had indeed made no attempt at progress,
and had given William Daffoll, the rector's son, a bleeding nose last
Wednesday when he ought to have been adding, dividing, and
subtracting. Old Parlow had shown him the letter so that Peter knew
that there was no escape, unless indeed Peter destroyed the paper, and
that only meant that punishment was deferred.
Yes, it meant a beating, and Peter had hung about the town and the
shore all the afternoon and evening because he was afraid. This fact of
his fear puzzled him and he had often considered the matter. He was
not, in any other way, a coward, and he had done, on many occasions,
things that other friends of his own age had hung back from, but the
thought of his father made him quite sick with fear somewhere in the
middle of his stomach. He considered the matter very carefully and he
decided at last (and he was very young for so terrible a discovery) that
it was because his father liked beating him that he was afraid. He knew
that his father liked it because he had watched his mouth and had heard

the noise that came through his lips. And this, again, was rather strange
because his father did not look as though he would like it; he had a cold
face like a stone and was always in black clothes, but he did not, as a
rule, show that he was pleased or angry or sorry--he never showed
things.
Now these words of Frosted Moses explained everything. It was
because his father knew that it was Courage that mattered that he liked
to beat Peter ... it was good for Peter to learn Courage.
"'Tisn't life that matters" ... it isn't a beating that matters....
Frosted Moses was a great deal wiser than old Simon Parlow, who, in
spite of his knowing so much about sums, knew nothing whatever
about life. He knew nothing whatever about Courage either and shook
like a leaf when his sister, Miss Jessel Parlow, was angry with him, as
she very often had reason to be. Peter despised the old man with his
long yellow tooth that hung over his lower lip, and his dirty grey hair
that strayed from under his greasy black velvet cap (like wisps of hay).
Peter never cared anything for the words or the deeds of old Parlow....
But Frosted Moses! ... he had lived for ever, and people said that he
could never die. Peter had heard that he had been in the Ark with Noah,
and he had often wished to ask him questions about that interesting
period, about Ham, Shem and Japheth, and about the animals. Of
course, therefore, he knew everything about Life, and this remark of his
about Courage was worth considering. Peter watched him very
solemnly and noticed how his white beard shone in the fire-light, how
there was a red handkerchief falling out of one enormous pocket, and
how there was a big silver ring on one brown and bony finger ... and
then the crowd of sailors at the door parted, and Stephen Brant came in.
II
Stephen Brant, the most wonderful person in the world! Always,
through life, Peter must have his most wonderful person, and
sometimes those Heroes knew of it and lived up to his worshipping and
sometimes they knew of it and could not live up to it, but most
frequently they never knew because Peter did not let them see. This

Hero worship is at the back of a great deal that happened to Peter, of a
great deal of his sorrow, and of all of his joy, and he would