The Crofton Boys | Page 9

better speak of something else now. So Mr. Proctor beckoned Harry to come and see whether the cat had not got into the bag again, as she was not to be seen anywhere else. It is true, the bag was not much bigger than a cat's head; but that did not matter to Harry, who never cared for that sort of consideration, and had been busy for half an hour, the day before, in trying to put the key of the house-door into the key-hole of the tea-caddy.
By the time Agnes had recovered herself, and the table was cleared, Miss Harold had arrived. Hugh brought his books with the rest, but, instead of opening them, rested his elbow on the uppermost, and stared full at Miss Harold.
"Well, Hugh!" said she, smiling.
"I have not learned quite down to 'Constantinople,'" said he. "Papa told me I need not, and not to mind you."
"Why, Hugh! hush!" cried Jane.
"He did,--he said exactly that. But he meant, Miss Harold, that I am to be a Crofton boy,--directly, next month."
"Then have we done with one another, Hugh?" asked Miss Harold, gently. "Will you not learn any more from me?"
"That is for your choice, Miss Harold," observed Mr. Proctor. "Hugh has not deserved the pains you have taken with him: and if you decline more trouble with him now he is going into other hands, no one can wonder."
Miss Harold feared that he was but poorly prepared for school, and was quite ready to help him, if he would give his mind to the effort. She thought that play, or reading books that he liked, was less waste of time than his common way of doing his lessons; but if he was disposed really to work, with the expectation of Crofton before him, she was ready to do her best to prepare him for the real hard work he would have to do there.
His mother proposed that he should have time to consider whether he would have a month's holiday, or a month's work, before leaving home. She had to go out this morning. He might go with her, if he liked; and, as they returned, they would sit down in the Temple Garden, and she would tell him all about the plan.
Hugh liked this beginning of his new prospects. He ran to be made neat for his walk with his mother. He knew he must have the wet curl on his forehead twice over to-day; but he comforted himself with hoping that there would be no time at Crofton for him to be kept standing, to have his hair done so particularly, and to be scolded all the while, and then kissed, like a baby, at the end.
CHAPTER III.
MICHAELMAS-DAY COME.
Hugh was about to ask his mother, again and again during their walk, why Mr. Tooke let him go to Crofton before he was ten; but Mrs. Proctor was grave and silent; and though she spoke kindly to him now and then, she did not seem disposed to talk. At last, they were in the Temple Garden; and they sat down where there was no one to overhear them; and then Hugh looked up at his mother. She saw, and told him, what it was that he wanted to ask.
"It is on account of the little boys themselves," said she, "that Mr. Tooke does not wish to have them very young, now that there is no kind lady in the house who could be like a mother to them."
"But there is Mrs. Watson. Phil has told me a hundred things about Mrs. Watson."
"Mrs. Watson is the housekeeper. She is careful, I know, about the boys' health and comfort; but she has no time to attend to the younger ones, as Mrs. Tooke did,--hearing their little troubles, and being a friend to them like their mothers at home."
"There is Phil----"
"Yes. You will have Phil to look to. But neither Phil, nor any one else, can save you from some troubles you are likely to have from being the youngest."
"Such as Mr. Tooke told me his boy had;--being put on the top of a high wall, and plagued when he was tired: and all that. I don't think I should much mind those things."
"So we hope, and so we believe. Your fault is not cowardice----"
Mrs. Proctor so seldom praised anybody that her words of esteem went a great way. Hugh first looked up at her and then down on the grass,--his cheeks glowed so. She went on--
"You have faults,--faults which give your father and me great pain; and though, you are not cowardly about being hurt in your body, you sadly want courage of a better kind,--courage to mend the weakness of your mind. You are so young that we are sorry for you, and mean to send you