“Thou art a great lad, William Dale,” said Dr. Parsons to me, when my father had bidden me farewell and departed, “and I doubt not thy mind runneth more on birds’-nests and suchlike than on learning. Nay, lad, that is but natural, and none but a fool would have it otherwise. I shall not plague thee overmuch with learning. This counsel, however, I give thee—what thou dost learn, learn well, and be not ashamed if it takes thee two days to master what a sharper lad would master in one. It is better to know why a thing is done than how it is done. Get to the bottom of everything. Let me see thee work steadily, eating thy meals with a good appetite, and behaving towards me and thy fellows as to thy parents and sister. So shall I be satisfied with thee, William. And now, perchance thou wilt get fighting with some of these lads of mine. Well, ’tis one of those things which our perverse human nature prompteth us to. However, William Dale, bear this in mind—never fight until thou art bound to do so. Be not the aggressor. He that gives cause of offence deserveth punishing. So when thou art forced to fight, fight not in anger, but with cool temper, and remember that a shot straight out from the left shoulder is a wonderful thing to cool down thy adversary. And now let us to school.”
When I had had time to look round me, I discovered that of all my new associates there were but two of whom I had any knowledge. One of these was John Drumbleforth, the other was Dennis Watson, the son of that Watson of Castle Hill to whom I have already made reference as being the enemy of my family. This Dennis was a lad somewhat my senior, of a dark and rather forbidding countenance, very masterful, and apt to bear malice against any who fell under his displeasure. Save that I had now and then seen him about his father’s land I knew nothing of him. Between a Dale and a Watson there was never any speech. If we did but meet in the highways we passed each other without word or look. Wherefore I was not over-well pleased to find Dennis Watson amongst my schoolmates. For though I had been taught to hate no man, yet I had a hearty dislike to any representative of the race which had been our enemies for many a generation.
Out of consideration for my newness, Mrs. Parsons put me to sleep in the chamber in which slept Jack Drumbleforth and two other boys of a like age. With these three I naturally became closely acquainted. The name of one of my new roommates was Thomas Thorpe, the son of a steward on one of the neighbouring great estates; the other was Benjamin Tuckett, nephew of Mr. John Tuckett, the grocer in the marketplace. Ben Tuckett had neither father nor mother, and his uncle’s wife having an objection to great boys in the house, Ben was sent to Dr. Parsons until he should be of an age to be apprenticed to some trade. He was a round-faced, pleasant-tempered lad, always lively, always willing to do anyone a good turn, so that he was universally liked. Between Ben and me and Tom Thorpe and Jack Drumbleforth grew up a strong friendship, which lasted many years, until death severed it.
Now, from the very first day of my going to school, Dennis Watson made a dead set at me, pouring out upon me as it were all the hatred and malice which his house had for mine. Being somewhat more experienced of the world than I—for he had been at school two years when I went there—he had an advantage over me in some respects, and failed not to use it. He had a following of his own amongst the boys, all those who served under his leadership being noted as comprising the evilly-disposed portion of our little community. Presently it became the fashion among these lads to make sport of me, annoying me in whatever way their ingenuity could devise. Thus, if I were engaged in preparing my tasks, I should find a pot of ink spilt over my fair copies, or if I were playing with my fellows in the yard, someone would rudely knock me over, as if by accident. Howbeit, being of an easy nature, I took little notice of these matters until one day came when, by the advice of my three roommates, I determined to stand it no longer. So when one of Dennis Watson’s men, as if by accident, trod rudely on my toes, I seized him by the collar, and marched him up to where Dennis and his chief associates were standing together. And then I think the whole school saw that something was about to happen, for it gathered round us, and I suddenly found Jack Drumbleforth and Ben Tuckett at my elbow, and Tom Thorpe making his way to me through the throng.
“Now,” said I, shaking the boy, a small one, who had stamped upon my toes, “the next time you or any other treads on me, or spills ink on my paper, or makes other like mistake, I shall take his head and knock it against the wall! That is fair warning.”
Then Dennis Watson laughed in a sneering fashion, and his mates echoed him.
“Pooh!” quoth he; “we all know that William Dale has not heart to fight even a small boy, let alone one his own size.”
“Do you?” I said, going straight to him; “then, Dennis Watson, as you
