Wilton School | Page 5

plunged, was filling him
with nervous excitement and terrified interest.
Each boy had a desk and stool to himself, and to the little boys the
desk-key was a proud possession. The sixteen desks were ranged in
even rows, Mr Prichard's being at the opposite end, it so happened, to
Harry's place. By Harry sat Egerton the new boy, the dreaded rival; and
as they bent, side by side, over their desks, their pens and inky fingers
scrambling as hard as possible over their papers, many eyes were
turned upon them, to see which appeared to be getting on best.
Harry himself was too busy to take any notice of Egerton; and the
morning was half-gone, and he had scarcely looked from his desk. But
a sudden impulse or wish to rest awhile, made him pause and lay down
his pen. And this is what met his eyes. Mr Prichard was standing with
his back to the boys, writing some directions on the class notice-board,
not hurrying himself, and quite lost in what he was doing. He was an
absent man, was Mr Prichard. All the boys were busy writing, or
scratching their heads (a process commonly supposed to assist
meditation), save one, and that was Egerton. But he was not idle. He

was busy, a great deal too much so.
In his lap lay an open book. His desk, of course, concealed this from
Mr Prichard, and from the rest of the room, except Harry; who, as he
sat in the same row with him, alone could see; for Egerton's jacket,
carefully pulled forward, screened his proceedings from the boy on his
other side. His eyes were greedily fixed on the book; then he would
write a little, then look again, then write again. He was cribbing.
Harry was so thunderstruck that he stared open-mouthed at him. Just
then he heard Mr Prichard's voice, sterner than usual: "Campbell, what
are you looking at, sir?" Poor Harry's heart sank within him. He could
not, would not, tell; that would be sneaking. And yet he knew from the
way in which Mr Prichard spoke that he suspected him of looking over
Egerton's paper. The fact was, Mr Prichard had turned round suddenly,
and catching Harry's eyes strained eagerly in the direction of Egerton's
desk, had naturally imagined that he, and not Egerton, was taking an
unfair advantage. Those few words of his sowed a crop of prejudice
among the boys against Harry. "Campbell's been caught cribbing off
Egerton," was what rose to the mind and lips of all; and a sort of
sympathy grew up in favour of the true culprit, because it appeared that
he had been the sufferer.
Naturally enough, there was a slight commotion in the room, and this
gave Egerton ample opportunity to hide his book by sitting on it,
or--but we must not anticipate.
Soon after, Harry finished his paper, folded it, and walked to Mr
Prichard's desk; in his hurry, leaving his own open at the time. As he
handed in his work he said, stammering: "I wasn't looking at Egerton's
paper, sir; indeed I wasn't," and then blushed crimson. Mr Prichard said
nothing, but looked very hard at him, and this made Harry blush the
more. Then he went back to his desk (which he never noticed was now
closed), locked it, and sat quietly till the class was dismissed; and
shortly after was running home to his mother.
CHAPTER V.

MOTHER AND SON.
Very miserable--Past hope--Mother and son--Breaking
down--Resignation--"It is well."
The doctor's carriage with the broken-winded pony was standing at the
door of the farm. Mrs Valentine had just come out, and was talking to
the doctor's little boy, who sat holding the reins.
"Hallo, Harry," he cried, "home from school?"
"Hush, Master Bromley, don't make such a noise!" interposed Mrs
Valentine.
Without taking any notice of Master Bromley, Harry exclaimed
nervously to Mrs Valentine--
"Is mamma worse, Mrs Valentine?"
"Yes, dear," the good farmer's wife answered; "you mustn't go in now.
She's very bad, indeed. Mr Bromley is with her."
So Harry ran into the orchard, and sitting down under a tree, felt very
miserable. His mamma was worse--was she really dying now? The
terrible examination--he remembered her words about his work, and
going to Oxford. What was he to do? Was he to get leave from school,
and give up the chance of getting the prize, and stay at home with
mamma instead? But wouldn't that vex her, and perhaps make her
worse? Besides, what use could he be at home? Ah! but if she were to
die when he was away? No, no; he could not go away and leave her. He
must stay with her now! The examination was nothing!
Such were the thoughts that coursed through Harry's brain; for though