knowing more than other people would make you so, but minding nothing else would.'
This argument from Norman himself did much to reconcile Ethel's mind to the sacrifice she had made; and when she went to bed, she tried to work out the question in her own mind, whether her eagerness for classical learning was a wrong sort of ambition, to know what other girls did not, and whether it was right to crave for more knowledge than was thought advisable for her. She only bewildered herself, and went to sleep before she had settled anything, but that she knew she must make all give way to papa first, and, secondly, to Cocksmoor.
Meanwhile Margaret had told her father all that had passed. He was only surprised to hear that Ethel had kept up so long with Norman, and thought that it was quite right that she should not undertake so much, agreeing more entirely than Margaret had expected with Miss Winter's view, that it would be hurtful to body as well as mind.
'It is perfectly ridiculous to think of her attempting it!' he said. 'I am glad you have put a stop to it.'
'I am glad I have,' said Margaret; 'and dear Ethel behaved so very well. If she had resisted, it would have puzzled me very much, I must have asked you to settle it. But it is very odd, papa, Ethel is the one of them all who treats me most as if I had real authority over her; she lets me scold her, asks my leave, never seems to recollect for a moment how little older I am, and how much cleverer she is. I am sure I never should have submitted so readily. And that always makes it more difficult to me to direct her; I don't like to take upon me with her, because it seems wrong to have her obeying me as if she were a mere child.'
'She is a fine creature,' said Dr. May emphatically. 'It just shows the fact, the higher the mind the readier the submission. But you don't mean that you have any difficulty with the others?'
'Oh, no, no. Flora never could need any interference, especially from me, and Mary is a thorough good girl. I only meant that Ethel lays herself out to be ruled in quite a remarkable way. I am sure, though she does love learning, her real love is for goodness and for you, papa.'
Ethel would have thought her sacrifice well paid for, had she seen her father's look of mournful pleasure.
CHAPTER XIX.
O ruthful scene! when from a nook obscure, His little sister doth his peril see, All playful as she sate, she grows demure, She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee, She meditates a prayer to set him free. SHENSTONE.
The setting sun shone into the great west window of the school at Stoneborough, on its bare walls, the masters' desks, the forms polished with use, and the square, inky, hacked and hewed chests, carved with the names of many generations of boys.
About six or eight little boys were clearing away the books or papers that they, or those who owned them as fags, had left astray, and a good deal of talk and laughing was going; on among them. 'Ha!' exclaimed one, 'here has Harrison left his book behind him that he was showing us the gladiators in!' and, standing by the third master's desk, he turned over a page or two of Smith's 'Antiquities', exclaiming, 'It is full of pictures--here's an old man blowing the bellows--'
'Let me see!' cried Tom May, precipitating himself across the benches and over the desk, with so little caution, that there was an outcry; and, to his horror, he beheld the ink spilled over Mr. Harrison's book, while, 'There, August! you've been and done it!' 'You'll catch it! ' resounded on all sides.
'What good will staring with your mouth open do!' exclaimed Edward Anderson, the eldest present. 'Here! a bit of blotting-paper this moment!'
Tom, dreadfully frightened, handed a sheet torn from an old paper- case that he had inherited from Harry, saying despairingly, 'It won't take it out, will it?'
'No, little stupid head, but don't you see, I'm stopping it from running down the edges, or soaking in. He won't be the wiser till he opens it again at that place.'
'When he does, he will,' said the bewildered Tom.
'Let him. It won't tell tales.'
'He's coming!' cried another boy, 'he is close at the door.'
Anderson hastily shut the book over the blotting-paper, which he did not venture to retain in his hand, dragged Tom down from the desk, and was apparently entirely occupied with arranging his own box, when Mr. Harrison came in. Tom crouched behind the raised lid, quaking in every limb, conscious he ought to confess, but destitute of resolution to do so, and, in a perfect agony as the master went to his desk, took up the book, and carried it away, so unconscious, that Larkins, a great wag, only waited till his back was turned, to exclaim, 'Ha! old fellow, you don't know what you've got there!'
'Hallo! May junior, will you never leave off staring? you won't see a bit farther for it,' said Edward Anderson, shaking him by the ear; 'come to your senses, and know your friends.'
'He'll open it!' gasped Tom.
'So he will, but I'd bet ninety to one, it is not at that page, or if he does, it won't tell tales, unless, indeed, he happened to see you standing there, crouching and shaking. That's the right way to bring him upon you.'
'But suppose he opens it, and knows who was in school?'
'What then? D'ye think we can't stand by each other, and keep our own counsel?'
'But the blotting-paper--suppose he knows that!'
There was a laugh all round at this, 'as if Harrison knew everyone's blotting-paper!'
'Yes, but Harry used to write his name all over his--see--and draw Union Jacks on it.'
'If he did, the date is not there. Do you think the ink is going to say March 2nd? Why should not July have done it last half?'
'July would have told if he had,' said Larkins. 'That's no go.'
'Ay! That's the way--the Mays are all like girls--can't keep a secret--not one of them. There, I've done more for you than ever one of them would have done--own it--and he strode up to Tom, and grasped his wrists, to force the confession from him.'
'But--but he'll ask when he finds it out--'
'Let him. We know nothing about it. Don't be coming the good boy over me like your brothers. That won't do--I know whose eyes are not too short-sighted to read upside down.'
Tom shrank and looked abject, clinging to the hope that Mr. Harrison would not open the book for weeks, months, or years.
But the next morning his heart died within him, when he beheld the unfortunate piece of blotting-paper, displayed by Mr. Harrison, with the inquiry whether any one knew to whom it belonged, and what made it worse was, that his sight would not reach far enough to assure him whether Harry's name was on it, and he dreaded that Norman or Hector Ernescliffe should recognise the nautical designs. However, both let it pass, and no one through the whole school attempted to identify it. One danger was past, but the next minute Mr. Harrison opened his Smith's 'Antiquities' at the page where stood the black witness. Tom gazed round in despair, he could not see his brother's face, but Edward Anderson, from the second form, returned him a glance of contemptuous encouragement.
'This book,' said Mr. Harrison, 'was left in school for a quarter of an hour yesterday. When I opened it again, it was in this condition. Do any of you know how it happened?' A silence, and he continued, 'Who was in school at this time? Anderson junior, can you tell me anything of it?'
'No, sir.'
'You know nothing of it?'
'No, sir.'
Cold chills crept over Tom, as Mr. Harrison looked round to refresh his memory. 'Larkins, do you know how this happened?'
'No, sir,' said Larkins boldly, satisfying his conscience because he had not seen the manner of the overthrow.
'Ernescliffe, were you there?'
'No, sir.'
Tom's timid heart fluttered in dim hope that he had been overlooked, as Mr. Harrison paused, then said, 'Remember, it is concealment that is the evil, not the damage to the book. I shall have a good opinion ever after of a boy honest enough to confess, May junior, I saw you,' he added, hopefully and kindly. 'Don't be afraid to speak out if you did meet with a mischance.'
Tom coloured and turned pale. Anderson and Larkins grimaced at him, to remind him that they had told
