Glengarry Schooldays [61]
"Great nerve," and he lapsed into silence, while Fusie could not contain himself, but danced from one foot to the other with excited exclamations.
The minister had come out intending, as he said, "to teach that boy a lesson that he would remember," but as he listened to Hughie's story, his anger gave place to a great thankfulness.
"It was a great mercy, my boy," he said at length, when he was quite sure of his voice, "that you had Fido with you."
"Yes, indeed, father," said Hughie. "It was Fido saved me."
"It was the Lord's goodness," said the minister, solemnly.
"And a great mercy," said Long John, "that your lad kept his head and showed such courage. You have reason to be proud of him."
The minister said nothing just then, but at home, when recounting the exploit to the mother, he could hardly contain his pride in his son.
"Never thought the boy would have a nerve like that, he's so excitable. I had rather he killed that bear than win a medal at the university."
The mother sat silent through all the story, her cheek growing more and more pale, but not a word did she say until the tale was done, and then she said, "'Who delivereth thee from destruction.'"
"A little like David, mother, wasn't it?" said Hughie; but though there was a smile on his face, his manner and tone were earnest enough.
"Yes," said his mother, "a good deal like David, for it was the same God that delivered you both."
"Rather hard to cut Fido out of his share of the glory," said Mr. Craven, "not to speak of a cool head and a steady nerve."
Mrs. Murray regarded him for a moment or two in silence, as if meditating an answer, but finally she only said, "We shall cut no one out of the glory due to him."
At the supper-table the whole affair was discussed in all its bearings. In this discussion Hughie took little part, making light of his exploit, and giving most of the credit to Fido, and the mother wondered at the unusual reserve and gravity that had fallen upon her boy. Indeed, Hughie was wondering at himself. He had a strange new feeling in his heart. He had done a man's deed, and for the first time in his life he felt it unnecessary to glory in his deeds. He had come to a new experience, that great deeds need no voice to proclaim them. During the thrilling moments of that terrible hour he had entered the borderland of manhood, and the awe of that new world was now upon his spirit.
It was chiefly this new experience of his that was sobering him, but it helped him not a little to check his wonted boyish exuberance that at the table opposite him sat a strange young man, across whose dark, magnetic face there flitted, now and then, a lazy, cynical smile. Hughie feared that lazy smile, and he felt that it would shrivel into self-contempt any feeling of boastfulness.
The mother and Hughie said little to each other, waiting to be alone, and after Hughie had gone to his room his mother talked long with him, but when Mr. Craven, on his way to bed, heard the low, quiet tones of the mother's voice through the shut door, he knew it was not to Hughie she was speaking, and the smile upon his face lost a little of its cynicism.
Next day there was no smile when he stood with Hughie under the birch-tree, watching the lad hew flat one side, but gravely enough he took the paper on which Hughie had written, "Fido, Sept. 13th, 18--," saying as he did so, "I shall cut this for you. It is good to remember brave deeds."
CHAPTER XI
JOHN CRAVEN'S METHOD
Mr. John Craven could not be said to take his school-teaching seriously; and indeed, any one looking at his face would hardly expect him to take anything seriously, and certainly those who in his college days followed and courted and kept pace with Jack Craven, and knew his smile, would have expected from him anything other than seriousness. He appeared to himself to be enacting a kind of grim comedy, exile as he was in a foreign land, among people of a strange tongue.
He knew absolutely nothing of pedagogical method, and consequently he ignored all
The minister had come out intending, as he said, "to teach that boy a lesson that he would remember," but as he listened to Hughie's story, his anger gave place to a great thankfulness.
"It was a great mercy, my boy," he said at length, when he was quite sure of his voice, "that you had Fido with you."
"Yes, indeed, father," said Hughie. "It was Fido saved me."
"It was the Lord's goodness," said the minister, solemnly.
"And a great mercy," said Long John, "that your lad kept his head and showed such courage. You have reason to be proud of him."
The minister said nothing just then, but at home, when recounting the exploit to the mother, he could hardly contain his pride in his son.
"Never thought the boy would have a nerve like that, he's so excitable. I had rather he killed that bear than win a medal at the university."
The mother sat silent through all the story, her cheek growing more and more pale, but not a word did she say until the tale was done, and then she said, "'Who delivereth thee from destruction.'"
"A little like David, mother, wasn't it?" said Hughie; but though there was a smile on his face, his manner and tone were earnest enough.
"Yes," said his mother, "a good deal like David, for it was the same God that delivered you both."
"Rather hard to cut Fido out of his share of the glory," said Mr. Craven, "not to speak of a cool head and a steady nerve."
Mrs. Murray regarded him for a moment or two in silence, as if meditating an answer, but finally she only said, "We shall cut no one out of the glory due to him."
At the supper-table the whole affair was discussed in all its bearings. In this discussion Hughie took little part, making light of his exploit, and giving most of the credit to Fido, and the mother wondered at the unusual reserve and gravity that had fallen upon her boy. Indeed, Hughie was wondering at himself. He had a strange new feeling in his heart. He had done a man's deed, and for the first time in his life he felt it unnecessary to glory in his deeds. He had come to a new experience, that great deeds need no voice to proclaim them. During the thrilling moments of that terrible hour he had entered the borderland of manhood, and the awe of that new world was now upon his spirit.
It was chiefly this new experience of his that was sobering him, but it helped him not a little to check his wonted boyish exuberance that at the table opposite him sat a strange young man, across whose dark, magnetic face there flitted, now and then, a lazy, cynical smile. Hughie feared that lazy smile, and he felt that it would shrivel into self-contempt any feeling of boastfulness.
The mother and Hughie said little to each other, waiting to be alone, and after Hughie had gone to his room his mother talked long with him, but when Mr. Craven, on his way to bed, heard the low, quiet tones of the mother's voice through the shut door, he knew it was not to Hughie she was speaking, and the smile upon his face lost a little of its cynicism.
Next day there was no smile when he stood with Hughie under the birch-tree, watching the lad hew flat one side, but gravely enough he took the paper on which Hughie had written, "Fido, Sept. 13th, 18--," saying as he did so, "I shall cut this for you. It is good to remember brave deeds."
CHAPTER XI
JOHN CRAVEN'S METHOD
Mr. John Craven could not be said to take his school-teaching seriously; and indeed, any one looking at his face would hardly expect him to take anything seriously, and certainly those who in his college days followed and courted and kept pace with Jack Craven, and knew his smile, would have expected from him anything other than seriousness. He appeared to himself to be enacting a kind of grim comedy, exile as he was in a foreign land, among people of a strange tongue.
He knew absolutely nothing of pedagogical method, and consequently he ignored all