That Boy Of Norcott's. Charles James Lever
the leaves, to mark the place, lay on the sofa. The book was “Paul and Virginia”. A common sheet almanac was nailed against the wall, but over the printed columns of the months a piece of white paper was pasted, on which, in large letters, was written “June 11, 18—. Dies infausta.”
I started. I had read that date once before in my mother's prayer-book, and had learned it was her marriage-day. As a ray of sunlight displays in an instant every object within its beam, I at once saw the meaning of every detail around me. These were the humble accessories of that modest home from which my dear mother was taken; these were the grim reminders of the time my father desired to perpetuate as an undying sorrow. I trembled to think what a nature I should soon be confronted with, and how terrible must be the temper of a man whose resentments asked for such aliment to maintain them! I stole away abashed at my own intrusiveness, and feeling that I was rightfully punished by the misery that overwhelmed me. How differently now did all the splendor appear to me as I retraced my steps! how defiantly I gazed on that magnificence which seemed to insult the poverty I had just quitted! What a contrast to the nurtured spitefulness of his conduct was my poor mother's careful preservation of a picture representing my father in his uniform. A badly painted thing it was; but with enough of likeness to recall him. And as such, in defiance of neglect and ill-usage and insult, she preserved it—a memorial, not of happier days, but of a time when she dreamed of happiness to come. While I was thus thinking, seeking in my mind comparisons between them, which certainly redounded but little to his credit, Nixon came up to me, saying, “Oh, Master Digby, we 've been looking for you in every direction. Sir Roger has asked over and over why you have not been to see him; and I 'm afraid you 'll find him displeased at your delay.”
“I 'm ready now,” said I, drily, and followed him.
My father was in his study, lying on a sofa, and cutting the leaves of a new book as I entered; and he did not interrupt the operation to offer me his hand.
“So, sir,” said he, calmly and coldly, “you have taken your time to present yourself to me? Apparently you preferred making acquaintance with the house and the grounds.”
“I am very sorry, sir,” I began; “but I did not know you had risen. Nixon told me about one or two—”
“Indeed! I was not aware that you and Mr. Nixon had been discussing my habits. Come nearer; nearer still. What sort of dress is this? Is it a smock-frock you have on?”
“No, sir. It's a blouse to keep my jacket clean. I have got but one.”
“And these shoes; are they of your own making?”
“No, sir. I could n't make even as good as these.”
“You are a very poor-looking object, I must say. What was Antoine about that he did n't, at least, make you look like a gentleman, eh? Can you answer me that?”
“No, sir, I cannot”
“Nor I, either,” said he, sighing. “Have you been equally neglected inside as out? Have you learned to read?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And to write?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Write my name, then, there, on that piece of paper, and let me see it.”
I drew nigh, and wrote in a fall, bold hand, Roger Norcott.
“Why not Sir Roger Norcott, boy? Why not give me my name and title too?”
“You said your name, sir, and I thought—”
“No matter what you thought. This literalism comes of home breeding,” muttered he to himself; “they are made truthful at the price of being vulgar. What do you know besides reading and writing?”
“A little Latin, sir, and some French, and some German, and three books of Euclid, and the Greek grammar—”
“There, there, that's more than enough. It will tax your tutor's ingenuity to stub up all this rubbish, and prepare the soil for real acquirement. I was hoping I should see you a savage: a fresh, strong-natured impulsive savage! What I 'm to do with you, with your little peddling knowledge of a score of things, I can't imagine. I 'd swear you can neither ride, row, nor fence, never handled a cricket-ball or a single-stick?”
“Quite true, sir; but I 'd like to do every one of them.”
“Of course you have been taught music?”
“Yes, sir; the piano, and a little singing.”
“That completes it,” cried he, flinging his book from him. “They 've been preparing you for a travelling circus, while I wanted to make you a gentleman. Mind me now, sir, and don't expect that I ever repeat my orders to any one. What I say once I mean to be observed. Let your past life be entirely forgotten by you—a thing that had no reality; begin from this day—from this very room—a new existence, which is to have neither link nor tie to what has gone before it. The persons you will see here, their ways, their manners, their tone, will be examples for your imitation; copy them, not servilely nor indiscriminately, but as you will find how their traits will blend with your own nature. Never tell an untruth, never accept an insult without redress, be slow about forming friendships, and where you hate, hate thoroughly. That's enough for the present. Ask Mr. Eccles to have the kindness to take you to his tailor and order some clothes. You must dine alone till you are suitably dressed. After that you shall come to my table. One thing more and you may go: don't ever approach me with tales or complaints of any one; right yourself where you can, and where you cannot, bear your grievance silently. You can change nothing, alter nothing, here; you are a guest, but a guest over whom I exercise full control. If you please me, it will be well for you; if not, you understand—it will cost me little to tell you so. Go. Go now.” He motioned me to leave him, and I went. Straight to my room I went, and sat down at once to write it all to mother. My heart swelled with indignation at the way I had been received, and a hundred times over did I say to myself that there was no poverty, no hardship I would not face rather than buy a life of splendor on such ignominious terms. Oh, if I could but get back again to the little home I had quitted, how I would bless the hour that restored me to peace of mind and self-respect! As I wrote, my indignation warmed with every line. I found that my passion was actually mastering my reason. Better to finish this, later on—when I shall be cooler, thought I; and I walked to my window and opened it. There were voices of people speaking in the paddock below, and I leaned over the balcony and saw the two men I had seen at breakfast, seated on rustic chairs, watching a young horse being broken to the saddle. The well-worn ring in the grass showed that this spot was reserved for such purposes, nor was I displeased to know that such a source of interest lay so near to me.
“Isn't he one of your Mexicans, George?” asked Captain Hotham.
“No, sir, he's a Hungarian-bred 'un. Master calls him a Jucker, whatever that is.”
“Plenty of action, anyhow.”
“A little too much, sir; that's his fault. He's a-comin' now, and it's all they can do to keep him going over the park paling. Take this one back,” said he to the groom, who was ringing a heavy-shouldered, ungainly colt in the ring.
“You 'll not gain much credit by that animal, George,” said Cleremont, as he lighted a cigar.
“He ain't a beauty, sir; he 's low before, and he's cow-hocked behind; but Sir Roger says he's the best blood in Norfolk. Take care, take care, sir! the skittish devil never knows where he 'll send his hind-legs. Steady, Tom, don't check him: why, he's sweating as if he had been round the two-mile course.”
The animal that called for this criticism was a dark chestnut, but so bathed in sweat as to appear almost black. He was one of those cross breeds between the Arab and the western blood, that gain all the beauty of head and crest and straightly formed croup, and yet have length of body and depth of rib denied to the pure Arab. To my thinking he was the most perfect creature I had ever seen, and as he bounded and plunged, there was a supple grace and pliancy about him indescribably beautiful.
George