Randall.'
Norman felt as if, while his father looked at him as he now did, the rest of the world were nothing to him; but, perhaps, the driving past the school brought him to a different mind, for he walked into the house slowly and dejectedly.
He told his own story to Ethel, in the garden, not without much difficulty, so indignant were her exclamations; and it was impossible to make her see that his father's interference would put him in an awkward position among the boys. She would argue vehemently that she could not bear Mr. Wilmot to think ill of him, that it was a great shame of Dr. Hoxton, and that it was dreadful to let such a boy as Harvey Anderson go unpunished. 'I really do think it is quite wrong of you to give up your chance of doing good, and leave him in his evil ways!' That was all the comfort she gave Norman, and she walked in to pour out a furious grumbling upon Margaret.
Dr. May had been telling the elder ones, and they were in conversation after he had left them--Margaret talking with animation, and Flora sitting over her drawing, uttering reluctant assents. 'Has he told you, poor fellow?' asked Margaret.
'Yes,' said Ethel. 'Was there ever such a shame?'
'That is just what I say,' observed Flora. 'I cannot see why the Andersons are to have a triumph over all of us.'
'I used to think Harvey the best of the two,' said Ethel. 'Now I think he is a great deal the worst. Taking advantage of such a mistake as this! How will he ever look Norman in the face!'
'Really,' said Margaret, 'I see no use in aggravating ourselves by talking of the Andersons.'
'I can't think how papa can consent,' proceeded Flora. 'I am sure, if I were in his place, I should not!'
'Papa is so much pleased with dear Norman's behaviour that it quite makes up for all the disappointment,' said Margaret. 'Besides, he is very much obliged to him in one way; he would not have liked to have to battle the matter with Dr. Hoxton. He spoke of Norman's great good judgment.'
'Yes, Norman can persuade papa to anything,' said Flora.
'Yes, I wish papa had not yielded,' said Ethel. 'It would have been just as noble in dear Norman, and we should not have the apparent disgrace.'
'Perhaps it is best as it is, after all,' said Flora.
'Why, how do you mean? ' said Ethel.
'I think very likely things might have come out. Now don't look furious, Ethel. Indeed, I can't help it, but really I don't think it is explicable why Norman should wish to hush it up, unless there were something behind!'
'Flora!' cried Ethel, too much shocked to bring out another word.
'If you are unfortunate enough to have such suspicions,' said Margaret quietly, 'I think it would be better to be silent.'
'As if you did not know Norman!' stammered Ethel.
'Well,' said Flora, 'I don't wish to think so. You know I did not hear Norman himself, and when papa gives his vehement accounts of things, it always puzzles us of the cooler-minded sort.'
'It is as great a shame as ever I heard!' cried Ethel, recovering her utterance. 'Who would you trust, if not your own father and brother?'
'Yes, yes,' said Flora, not by any means wishing to displease her sisters. 'If there is such a thing as an excess of generosity, it is sure to be among ourselves. I only know it does not suit me. It will make us all uncomfortable whenever we meet the Andersons or Mr. Wilmot, or any one else, and as to such tenderness to Harvey Anderson, I think it is thrown away.'
'Thrown away on the object, perhaps,' said Margaret, 'but not in Norman.'
'To be sure,' broke out Ethel. 'Better be than seem! Oh, dear! I am sorry I was vexed with dear old June when he told me. I had rather have him now than if he had gained everything, and every one was praising him--that I had! Harvey Anderson is welcome to be dux and Randall scholar for what I care, while Norman is--while he is, just what we thought of the last time we read that Gospel--you know, Margaret?'
'He is--that he is,' said Margaret, 'and, indeed, it is most beautiful to see how what has happened has brought him at once to what she wished, when, perhaps, otherwise it would have been a work of long time.'
Ethel was entirely consoled. Flora thought of the words 'tete exaltee' and considered herself alone to have sober sense enough to see things in a true light--not that she went the length of believing that Norman had any underhand motives, but she thought it very discreet in her to think a prudent father would not have been satisfied with such a desire to avoid investigation.
Dr. May would not trust himself to enter on the subject with Dr. Hoxton in conversation; he only wrote a note.
'June 16th.
'Dear Dr. Hoxton,
'My son has appealed to me to confirm his account of himself on Thursday evening last. I therefore distinctly state that he came in at half-past nine, with his hands full of plants from the river, and that he then went out again, by my desire, to look for his little brother.
--Yours very truly, R. May.'
A long answer came in return, disclaiming all doubt of Norman's veracity, and explaining Dr. Hoxton's grounds for having degraded him. There had been misconduct in the school, he said, for some time past, and he did not consider that it was any very serious reproach, to a boy of Norman's age, that he had not had weight enough to keep up his authority, and had been carried away by the general feeling. It had been necessary to make an example for the sake of principle, and though very sorry it should have fallen on one of such high promise and general good conduct, Dr. Hoxton trusted that it would not be any permanent injury to his prospects, as his talents had raised him to his former position in the school so much earlier than usual.
'The fact was,' said Dr. May, 'that old Hoxton did it in a passion, feeling he must punish somebody, and now, finding there's no uproar about it, he begins to be sorry. I won't answer this note. I'll stop after church to-morrow and shake hands, and that will show we don't bear malice.'
What Mr. Wilmot might think was felt by all to affect them more nearly. Ethel wanted to hear that he declared his complete conviction of Norman's innocence, and was disappointed to find that he did not once allude to the subject. She was only consoled by Margaret's conjecture that, perhaps, he thought the headmaster had been hasty, and could not venture to say so--he saw into people's characters, and it was notorious that it was just what Dr. Hoxton did not.
Tom had spent the chief of that Saturday in reading a novel borrowed from Axworthy, keeping out of sight of every one. All Sunday he avoided Norman more scrupulously than ever, and again on Monday. That day was a severe trial to Norman; the taking the lower place, and the sense that, excel as much as ever he might in his studies, it would not avail to restore him to his former place, were more unpleasant, when it came to the point, than he had expected.
He saw the cold manner, so different from the readiness with which his tasks had always been met, certain as they were of being well done; he found himself among the common herd whom he had passed so triumphantly, and, for a little while, he had no heart to exert himself.
This was conquered by the strong will and self-rebuke for having merely craved for applause, but, in the play- ground, he found himself still alone-the other boys who had been raised by his fall shrank from intercourse with one whom they had injured by their silence, and the Andersons, who were wont to say the Mays carried every tale home, and who still almost expected interference from Dr. May, hardly believed their victory secure, and the younger one, at least, talked spitefully, and triumphed in the result of May's meddling and troublesome over strictness. 'Such prigs always come to a downfall,' was the sentiment.
Norman found himself left out of everything, and stood dispirited and weary on the bank of the river, wishing for Harry, wishing for Cheviot, wishing that he had been able to make a friend who would stand by him, thinking it could not be worse if he had let his father reinstate him--and a sensation of loneliness and injustice hung heavy at his heart.
His first interruption was a merry voice. 'I say, June, there's no end of river cray-fish under that bank,' and Larkins's droll face was looking up at him, from that favourite position, half stooping, his hands on his knees, his expression of fun trying to conceal his real anxiety and sympathy.
Norman turned and smiled, and looked for the cray-fish, and, at the same time, became aware of Hector Ernescliffe, watching for an opportunity to say, 'I have a letter from Alan.' He knew they wanted, as far as little
