Sea-gift. Fuller Edwin Wiley
Did you bar the door against me?”
“No, madam.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do, but I cannot tell.”
Miss Hester’s face flushed, as she said, sternly:
“Those who conceal are as guilty as those who commit.”
She proceeded down the roll, receiving confessions from some, and denials from others, till she came to Frank’s name.
“Frank Paning,” she said, with her darkest frown, “did you bar my door?”
“No, madam, I did not.”
He had been nailing down the windows while we were barring the door.
“Did you see who did it?”
“I did not see any one do it. When I looked the door was all barred up tight.”
Every one looked at him in amazement, but he replied by a smirk of conceit at his success.
“John Smith, did you help to keep me out?” thundered Miss Hester, her patience all gone.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“That will do; you can all take your seats.”
My name completed the roll, and she laid aside the book, and took up the rod. After some remarks on the enormity of our offence, and the surprise she felt that some of her best scholars should have countenanced it, and that it was her unpleasant duty to punish all concerned, she proceeded to call up the offenders in order.
“Edward Cheyleigh, come here, sir. I regret very much the necessity of punishing you, as it is the first time, and I have never before even reproved you; but the offence is very grievous, and as you know who did it, and won’t tell, you are accessory to the deed. Hold out your hand!”
I could stand it no longer, as Ned, with his face crimson from mortification, yet his head erect with conscious innocence, held out his hand for the undeserved blows, but springing from my seat, I cried:
“Miss Hester, Ned had nothing to do with it. We all begged him to join us, but he wouldn’t; and if you are going to whip him, let me take his share.”
“Stand back, sir,” she said sternly, “your time will come soon enough. Your hand, Edward.”
He extended each palm, and received the cutting blows without a quiver, then turned to his seat. As he sat down his fortitude gave way, and, burying his face in his hands, he burst into sobbing.
My time came last, but so much did I feel for Ned that I scarce heeded the stinging ferule. Miss Hester, after some further remarks, dismissed us for the evening. As we poured from the door, the occasion furnished food for more chattering than a cargo of magpies could have made.
“Wasn’t old Hess mad, though?” says one, whose hand was still red from the ruler.
“She couldn’t get much out of my hand with her old slapjack,” boasts another, rubbing his hands unconsciously on his pants, in striking contradiction of his assertion.
As Frank Paning came out I heard him say:
“But didn’t I get out of it nice?”
“Yes, you sneaked out like a dog,” I replied indignantly. Another chimed in:
“Yes, you did. Ned Cheyleigh’s good game, though. I don’t believe he ever would have told old Hess, if she had beat him till now.”
“Umph!” sneered Frank, “‘twas because he was afraid to tell. He knew some of us would whip him if he did.”
Ned was coming down the steps, the traces of tears still on his cheeks, when he heard Frank’s remarks.
The crimson on his face gave place to the white hue of anger, as he walked up to Frank and said:
“You lie. I dare you to try it.”
Frank looked sheepish, but the boys were all around him, and he felt that he must fight, so, laying down his books, he met Ned.
What a momentous subject of interest is a fight between school boys! A duel between senators excites not more proportionate attention.
These only passed a couple of blows, then clinched and fell, Frank underneath. What digging in the ground with heels and toes! Frank trying to wring his body from under Ned, and Ned trying to hold him down; while the enthusiastic spectators clapped their hands and shouted as the tide of battle wavered:
“Oh my, Ned! Hold him down! Turn him over, Frank! Throw out your leg and push! Jerk his hands up, Ned,” etc., etc.
After several futile struggles Frank gave up, cried “Enough!” and both arose considerably soiled and blown.
I took Ned in charge, and we started home, I brushing the dirt from his clothes, and endeavoring to remove all traces of the conflict.
“Ned,” I said, as we reached Mr. Cheyleigh’s gate, “I am so sorry I got you into this trouble.”
“Oh, never mind that,” he replied cheerfully. “I hated it on account of its being my first, but I wasn’t in fault any way, and I wouldn’t tell her now to save her life.”
Ned was human, and could not but feel anger at his undeserved punishment.
We parted, and I hastened home. Anticipating Miss Hester’s narration of the affair, I gave a faithful account of it; taking care to describe our conduct as “having just locked her out for a little fun,” and descanting, in glowing terms, on her cruelty to Ned. Father’s brow darkened, and he shook his head ominously when I had concluded.
“John,” he said at length, and I knew by his tone that he did not see the joke as I did, “this will not do. You are always getting in some school difficulty. I must look into this affair and learn the true state of the case. Go, get your supper and then go to bed. I will see you in the morning.”
I sullenly went into the dining room and partook of the meal, with gloomy forebodings of the morrow, for I knew, from experience, that the “seeing” in the morning meant something more than vision.
I went to my chamber and got to bed, but not to sleep (for it was too soon for that, and I could still hear out doors the sounds of day life and activity); but to ruminate on the injustice of Miss Hester, father and the world generally. I felt that father should have taken my part and not threatened another punishment, when I had already expiated my fault at Miss Hester’s hands. I took a gloomy delight in forgetting all his kindness, and bringing up to memory all his chastisements and reproofs, and I finally came to the conclusion that I was a poor, persecuted little martyr, that nobody cared for me, and that it would be such a sweet revenge to bundle up all my clothes in a handkerchief and run away. I thought how fine it would be to go far away where no one ever heard of our home, and achieve an immense fortune; and when, at last, everybody thought me dead, and father was sufficiently penitent for his cruelty, to return in a gilded chariot, with several dozen white horses, and riding up before our door in great state, inquire if Col. Smith, the father of an exiled child, lived there. The only obstacle to my fugitive project was the lack of somewhere to run to; and as no suitable place presented itself to my mind, I gave up the scheme for the present, always to be renewed, though, when aggrieved, and always to be as far from execution. I persevered, however, in my misanthropic musings till I had rendered myself thoroughly miserable, when my reverie was broken by the entrance of mother, who came and sat down on the edge of my bed. Taking my hand in her soft palm, she said:
“Tell me all about your difficulty, Johnnie. How did it occur?” Turning my face from the wet, warm pillow up to her’s, I gave a full recital of all, throwing in towards the last a few reflections on father’s harsh treatment, as it appeared to me.
“Hush! hush! Johnnie, you must not speak so. I know it seems hard to you, but it was well calculated to provoke your father. This is the fourth or fifth time you have been punished this session, and he knew it would not do to encourage you in such rebellious conduct.”
I remained silent and grum, and mother continued:
“I