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THE DISTANT HILLS. An Allegory. (In Editions
; uniform with the above.)

“Il,

DHE OLD MAN’S HOME. A Tale. (In Editions un
form with the above.) ~

av:

THE KING’S MESSENGERS. An Allegorical Tale.
(In Editions uniform with the above.)

v.
A COLLECTED EDITION of these FOUR ALLE-
GORIES, elegantly printed in one Volume. (In
Turkey morocco, and in English library binding.)

VI.

THE FALL OF CRGSUS; A Story from Herodotus,
designed to connect the Study of History with the
Doctrine of a superintending Providence.

VI.

THE WARNINGS’ OF THE HOLY WEEK, &c.;
being a Course of Parooura, Lecrurss for the
Week sBerore Easter, and the Easter Festrvais,

 
 
 

 

 

 

 
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Page 54
CHERRY STONES;

CHARLTON SCHOOL.

4 Cale for Youth.

OO Es

PARTLY FROM THE MSS, OF THE

REV. WILLIAM ADAMS,
Author of She Old Ban's Bowe,” ete,

EDITED BY THE

REV. H. C. ADAMS,

WITH ENGRAVINGS EXECUTED BY BOBBETT AND EDMONDS,
FROM DESIGNS BY MATTESON.

NEW YORK:
GENERAL PROT. EPISCOPAL SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION,

DANIEL DANA, JR., AGENT,
DEPOSITORY 20 JOHN STREET.
1851.

 

 
  

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851,
By Joun W. MitcHELt,
(As Treasurer of the General Protestant Episcopal Sunday School Union,)
In the Office of the Clerk of the United States
" District of New York.

District Court for the Southern —
TO

JOHN W. ADAMS .

EMILY E. C. ADAMS
Chis little Volume is Inseribed

BY

THEIR AFFECTIONATE UNCLE

H. ©. A.
 
PREFACE.

 

*

Many years have passed away since my
lamented brother first delighted a party of
children, assembled at a Christmas entertain-
ment, with the simple outline of this Tale.
It was repeated by him on other occasions
of a similar kind; and he was often urgently
entreated by his youthful audiences to pub-
lish the Story. During the summer of 1842,
after the first attack of the fatal disorder
which ultimately removed him from us, and
before his departure for Madeira in the au-
tumn of that year, he occupied himself in
vi PREFACE.

committing to writing the larger portion of
the Story, with the view of its ultimate adapt-
ation to the Press. The little Tale was then
laid aside, and the higher and more important
publications, which afterwards occupied his
time, prevented its resumption, although the
idea was never wholly abandoned by him.

After his death, many friends, who remem-
bered the delight with which the Story had
been listened to, were desirous that it should
be given to the world, and it was placed in
my hands with that intention.

I found it could not be published in its
then state, It was little more than a rough
draft, with marginal notes, and some portions
not written at all.

Notwithstanding this difficulty, we were
anxious for its publication. The Story not
only contains a practical and valuable Moral,

but it is calculated to influence that time of
PREFACE. Vii

life which it is, in general, peculiarly difficult
to reach by such means. I have, therefore,
ventured to re-write the Book, retaining, as
‘far as possible, the original MSS., and sup-
plying a continuation and conclusion in keep- .
ing with it. That the Story must, under such
circumstances, lose much of the beauty and
interest which it would have possessed if it
had been completed by the mind by which
it was originally conceived, is sufficiently
obvious; but, I trust, enough remains to jus-
tify the Publication, and to render the Work
interesting, as well as valuable, to its youth-
ful Readers, for whose perusal it is princi-
pally designed.

| H.C. A.
Wincnzster, May 1, 1851.
    

  

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CHAPTER I.

THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE.

“How tiresome!” exclaimed Charles
Warbeck; “how very tiresome, Harry.
This is the third time you have knocked
it over. You must have done it on pur-

pose.”
“Tt is too bad!” “It is very ill-na-
tured!” “It is just like him!” was

echoed from various parts of the play-
ground,

“How could I help it?” expostulated
Henry Mertoun, the head boy of the
school, a fine lad in his thirteenth year.
12 THE OHERRY STONES.

“How could I help it, when he would
give me nothing but full pitches?”

“Nonsense, Harry; you know very
well you might have blocked them,’ if
you had chosen.”

“Block them, indeed,” rejoined Mer-
toun, indignantly, striking the ground with
his bat as he spoke; “a nice thing . to
be blocking full pitches—a nice way to
be out, I think; and to be blocking, too,
when we have twenty runs to get, and
nobody but*Tommy Brook to go in!”

“Well; at any rate, you have taken an
effectual way of preventing yourself or
any one else from being out, by putting
a stop to the game altogether.”

Such were the discontented exclama-
tions that proceeded from the playground
of Charlton School, on the afternoon of
the 18th of June, 184—. A few words
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 13

will explain what had caused the tem-
porary unpopularity of Henry Mertoun.
It was a half-holiday, and the boys had
been the whole afternoon engaged in the
grand cricket-match of the half-year. It
had proved a most interesting contest;
Warbeck’s side had at one time decid-
edly the advantage; but, in his second
innings, Mertoun had batted with such
spirit and success, as to bid fair to change
the fortune of the day; and as the game
approached its conclusion, its issue ap-
peared so very doubtful, as to excite the
utmost anxiety, both among the specta-
tors and the combatants. Unluckily, how-
ever, there was a drawback peculiar to
the ground on which they played. It
was bounded on one side bya brick
wall, about nine feet high, and it occa-
sionally happened that their matches were
St: a ae eae
: . a

a 2

14 THE CHERRY STONES.

interrupted by the ball being struck over, :
this barrier into an adjoining orchard. ~
Now, whether it was owimg to Warbeck’s
bad bowling, as Mertoun had affirmed, —
or to Mertoun’s own impetuosity, as the:
popular voice had declared, I cannot take —
upon myself to say; but, within one
half-hour, he had three times struck the
ball into the forbidden territory. Dr.
Young, their master, had twice allowed
them to-go round to his neighbour, Squire
Ellison, to whom the orchard belonged,
with a request to his gardener to throw
their ball back again into the play:
ground ; but he had warned them at the
same time that, if the accident again oc-
curred, he could not permit them to
trouble Mr. Ellison’s servant a third time.
All the boys, young and old, knew that
there was no chance of Dr. Young’s de-
 

THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 15

parting from his word. No one, indeed,
‘thought it worth while to make the at-
tempt, so that it is not surprising that
‘they thought it “too' bad,” and “very
ill-natured,” and declared that it was
. “done .on purpose,” and the like; and
were, withal, very much disposed to be
out of humour, whether reasonably or
unreasonably, with the cause of the dis-
raster, as it is the wont of boys and men
to be, when anything occurs to mar their
enjoyment.

The cricketers wandered listlessly up
and down the playground; for, after the
excitement of the match, it was impos-
sible to take interest in any fresh game.
There was a cloud on every face. Some
argued hotly on the probable result of
the unfinished match; each party main-
taining that there could be no doubt that
16 THE CHERRY STONES.

their side had had the advantage, and
must have won, if it had been concluded.
Others vented their spleen in murmurs
against everything which seemed in any
way connected with the mishap; and
Mertoun’s batting; Warbeck’s bowling ;
Dr. Young; Squire Ellison, his orchard,
his gardener; and, lastly, the wall of the
playground; each came in for its share
of censure. The wall, in particular, was
the object of universal disfayour. N ever,
probably, was any composition of brick
and mortar subjected to such severe criti-
cism, as the ill-starred wall in question,
“It ought to have had palings on the
top.” “Tt ought to be nothing but pal-
ings.” “It ought to be a great deal low-
er.” “Tt ought not to be there at all.”
“It ought to be there, and to be twice
as high ;”—were all urged, and all ad-
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 17

mitted: it not making, apparently, the
slightest difference in the unanimity of
the party, that no two agreed together
in the fault they found. None of the
party was more thoroughly out of tem-
per than Mertoun himself. He was vexed
at the interruption of his innings; he
was vexed because he had ceased to be
the object of general admiration; above
all, he was vexed because he felt that
it was chiefly his carelessness that had
caused the accident. Discontent and idle-
ness generally lead to mischief; and so
it proved on the present occasion.

“What a pity!” exclaimed Seymour,
one of the first class boys, who had been
very loud in his expressions of , disap-
pointment; “what a pity that abomin-
able wall was not built a foot or two
higher, or a foot or two lower |”

3
18 THE CHERRY-STONES.

‘‘A foot or two higher or lower,” said
West; “well, I do not see what good
we should get if it were a foot or two
lower. We should only lose our ball
twice as often.”

“Tf” replied Seymour, “it were a foot -
or two higher, there would be much less
chance of the ball being knocked over; and
if it were a foot or two lower, we might
manage to get over, and bring it back.”

“And why should we not get over
as it is!” suddenly exclaimed Mertoun,
looking eagerly up at the wall; “it would
not be so very difficult?”

“Oh! dear; no!” remarked Seymour,
ironically ; “particularly wasy, I declare;
and I really think, Harry, that as it was
you who lost our ball, that you had bet-
ter perform this particularly eany feat, and
get it back again.”
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 19

This taunt, and the general laugh that
followed it, only stimulated Mertoun to
make the attempt. But it was an easier
thing to resolve on than to execute. The
height, to be sure, was not very form
dable; and the boy was well known as
a bold and active climber; but his per-
formances had hitherto ‘been confined to
trees, and how was he to commence ope-
rations on a smooth surface of brickwork,
that offered neither the trunk to swarm,
nor branches to cling to. If the wall had
been decayed ever so little; or if even
a single brick had been removed; the
case would have been different. But our
hero (for such’ Harry Mertoun may be
styled) was not in a humour to be easily
discouraged. He took a careful survey
of the whole line of building; and his
eye soon rested on the only point: which
20 THE CHERRY-STONES.
¢

offered a possibility of success. Towards
the further end of the wall, and at a short
distance from the corner, there was a
buttress rising about five feet from the
ground, the top of which had been slightly
worn away, so as to afford a resting-
place of about half an inch in breadth.
It was a favourite amusement with the
younger boys to pitch their marbles sc
as to make them rest. on this slight
ledge; but it was so very narrow, that
they but seldom succeeded in their at-
tempts.

“Tf,” said Mertoun, as standing upon
tip-toe he tried, with a large stone, to
knock away more of the brickwork from
the top of the buttress, to the inexpres-
sible delight: of his little brother, Walter,
who had passed a great part of the after-
noon in Vain endeavours to make a fa-
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 21

vourite alley rest on the ledge; “if I
could only get my foot up there, I could
- manage the rest easily enough.”

“We will give you a lift!” shouted
several voices. “ You can stand on me,”
said West, leaning, as he spoke, against
the buttress, so as to offer his shouldet
as a step.

“No, no!” cried Warbeck, who had
hitherto taken no part in the proceed-
ings, “it is impossible; and he may break
a limb; besides,” he continued, in a lower
tone, “what would Dr. Young say ?”

“Never mind Dr. Young,” replied Mer-
toun, recklessly ; ‘it will be his own fault
for not giving us leave to go round for the
ball;” and without more words, availing
himself of the hands and shoulders of his
companions, he made a vigorous effort to
reach the top of the buttress. ‘Twice the
22 THE CHERRY-STONES,

‘attempt failed; and the second time he
tote his trowsers against the sharp sur-
face of the buttress; but the third trial
was attended with more success. His
spring succeeded, and for a moment he
paused, with his foot supported by the
narrow ridge, and the top of the wall
grasped ‘with both his hands. Still the
work was only half-accomplished.

“And now you have got your foot
there, what next?” inquired Seymour,
with a provoking laugh. Harry made no

reply, but throwing all his strength into
_ his arms, he slowly raised his body, until
he was able to get his knee on a level
with his hands, and in an instant after-
wards, waving his cap above his head,
he stood triumphantly on the summit of
the wall.

Once on the top, all the rest was easy.
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 28

He. walked cautiously along, till he ar-
rived at a point where a large branch’ of
one of the trees rested against the brick-
work, Holding fast by this, he gradu-
ally let himself down on the opposite side.
There was a moment of breathless ex-
pectation, while he was hidden from the
- eyes of his schoolfellows; and then the
cricket-ball came bounding into the play-
- ground, and. announced the successful is-
sue of the expedition.

‘Hush, hush!” cried several voices, as
a general* shout was raised; “we shall
have Dr. Young, or one of the ushers,
out directly, to know what is the mat-
ter; and then Harry will get into a nice
scrape. Make haste, Mertoun; there’s no
time to lose.” Our hero appeared to be
perfectly aware of this fact, without be-
ing reminded of it ‘To climb the tree.
24 THE CHERRY-STONES,

and regain the top of the wall, was the
work of a moment; and then, without
returning to the point at which he had
ascended, he let himself down as far as
he could by his hands; and, assisted by
his companions, dropped quietly and safe-
ly to the ground.

It will readily be believed, that ,this
successful feat produced a complete revo-
lution in the sentiments of the little world
of Charlton School. Mertoun’s unpopu-
larity passed away in a moment. He
had achieved what no one hitherto had
even ventured to attempt. There was,
indeed, a legend still extant, of some. dar-
ing adventurer, in the heroic ages, (there
is always an heroic age in the traditions
of every school, in which the boys are
related to have been greater in size, and
more venturous in spirit,) who had scaled
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 25

one of the walls of the playground, and
brought back with him a moss-covered
brick, as a memorial of his expedition,
which might still be seen, half-buried
under the great buttress. But the boys
in general held the tradition to be myth-
ical: nay, to have been altogether devised,
in order to account for the presence of
the aforesaid moss-covered brick; and
Harry was regarded quite as a hero by his

companions. “Bravo! Harry!” “ Well
done, Harry!” “I should not have be-
lieved it possible!” ‘There is not an-

other boy that would have ventured to
attempt it!” and the like, was heard on
all sides; whilst others, anxious to claim
any share, however trifling, in so glorious
an undertaking, disputed warmly as to
who it was that guided his foot to the
ledge of the buttress; and who gave him
4
26 ‘THE CHERRY-STONES.

the last push, which enabled him to get
his hand to the top of the wall.

Poor Harry! he did, indeed, run a
great risk of being spoiled. First, there
had been his unusual success at cricket,
and the proud thoughts to which it had
given rise; then a temporary reverse,
which, instead of subduing him, had only
awakened angry and rebellious feelings;
then these had led him on to commit
an act of disobedience; and lastly, his
disobedience had been attended with suc-
cess, and the admiration of his school-
fellows. He was more than ever full of
proud thoughts. This day might, indeed,
well prove the beginning of trouble.

“Well,” at length observed Seymour,
after about half an hour had been wasted
in various expressions of surprise and ad-
miration, “I do not precisely see what
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 27

use it is having our ball back again, if
we are not to go on with the match.”
Now it would seem not a little strange
that this obvious fact had not occurred
either to Mertoun or his friends. There
was no doubt that the interruption of
the game had been regarded as a great
hardship, and was the cause of Harry’s
dangerous exploit. But no sooner had
the difficulty been removed, than they
almost forgot to continue it. So much
has imagination to do with our worst
misfortunes.

Seymour’s hint, however, was no sooner
heard than it was acted upon; but the
long contested game was not, after all,
destined to be concluded. Too much
time had been lost. The wickets were
scarcely pitched again, before the bell
rang for supper; and the boys left the
‘\

28 THE CHERRY-STONES.

playground, conversing, as they straggled
in, upon the various occurrences of the
eventful afternoon, which had just come
to a conclusion.

“Harry, Harry !” said little Walter Mer-
toun, drawing his brother back from the
crowd; “I am so much obliged to you;
only see what you have done for me.”

“What are you worrying about?” said
Mertoun, who had received too much
flattery from his older schoolfellows to
wish to be detained by the praises of a
child of six years old.

“Only see how beautifully my alley
balances on the place you made for it.”

“TZ made for it?” said Harry, impa-
tiently ; “what are you talking about?”

“Why,” said Walter, innocently, “did
not you knock away the bricks with a
stone for me?”
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 29

“Well,” replied Harry, after a mo-
ment’s reflection, “if I did, you had bet-
ter hold your tongue about it;” and he
turned to follow his companions.

“But Harry, please tell me one thing.
Do you think it will be safe if I leave
it there all night?”

“Leave what?” said Mertoun, again
turning round— the buttress?”

“No, no! the alley. Now you are
laughing at me, brother Harry.”

“Well, Walter, I do not think the al-
ley will walk away of its own accord.”

“Then you think it will be safe?”
said Walter, doubtfully.

“Oh, ay! quite safe; don’t tease,” has-
tily replied Mertoun, as he ran off to
join his companions at the supper-table.
Walter shook his head gravely, as though
he thought a matter of such importance

 
30 THE CHERRY-STONES.

ought not to be so lightly dealt with;
and then, giving one parting look at his
favourite, he slowly followed his brother’s
steps.

It would have been well for Mertoun
if the events of the evening had ended
with this conversation; and his exploit
had led to no consequences more serious
than the balancing of his little brother's
marble on the ledge of the buttress. But
another question was asked in the sup-
per-room, by an older boy, the results
of which were very different.

“Mertoun,” whispered a voice in his
ear, as he took his seat at the table,
“did the fruit in the orchard look very
tempting?” .

Harry started as he heard the words.
He had not observed who his neighbour
on the left hand was; and on turning

 
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 31

-yound to reconnoitre him, he was not
particularly pleased to find himself seated
next to Edward Sharpe, a boy in the first
class, not much younger than himself,
but who had only lately come to the
school, where he was already notorious
for suggesting schemes of mischief, which
he had not courage to execute himself.

“Really,” replied Harry, “I had no
time to look; but I do remember,” he
continued, after a moment’s recollection,
“that there was a most splendid cherry-
tree, covered with fruit, at the foot of
which I found the ball.”

“ Ah! then,” said the other, slily, “let
me go halves with you in the cherries
you gathered ?”

“The cherries I gathered!” exclaimed
Harry, in great surprise; “I did not go
into the orchard to gather cherries; I
went to look for the ball.”

 
32 THE CHERRY-STONES,

‘But when you were there, you know,
it did not much matter what you went
for. So you were under a ripe cherry-
tree, and let the cherries off! Are you
certain you gathered none?”

‘Indeed, I did not; I had something
else to think of Besides, Edward, surely
it would have been ‘stealing Squire El-
lison’s cherries.”

‘Stealing, indeed! As if Squire Elli-
son would mind a few cherries out of
that large orchard! And if he did, it
would serve him right for not haan
the boys some fruit.”

“But he did send us some last year,
and perhaps he will do so again.”

‘Perhaps he may,” rejoined Sharpe;
“and perhaps he may not; and ‘per-
haps’s’ may be good things as well as
cherries; but if my foot had once got

 
THE SLIGHT ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 33

into his orchard, there would have. been
no ‘perhaps’s’ for me.”

The conversation, which had been car-
ried on in a low whisper, was here in-
terrupted by a summons to prayers. But
it had lasted long enough to give a new
turn to the thoughts of Harry Mertoun.
It was perfectly true, as he had said,
that while in the orchard the idea of
taking the ‘fruit had never occurred to
him. But he began now more than half
to repent of his own honesty. It was,
he reasoned, overstrained, to call picking
a few cherries off a large tree robbery.
And such splendid cherries, too! ‘“ Well,
however,” thought he, “the opportunity
is gone by; and, after all, I am not sorry
that I did not think of picking them,
while I was there.”

Notwithstanding this conclusion, how-

5
34° THE CHERRY-STONES,

ever, his mind ran upon the subject dur-
ing the whole of prayer-time that eve-
ning; nor did he make any decided ef-
fort to shake it off. There was one very
sad consequence arising from this. He
retired to rest without having implored
forgiveness for his fretfulness and diso-
bedience during the day; and without ©
having asked for protection during the
dangers of the night. No one can tell
how much misery might have been spared
him, if this evening he had but once
thought seriously on the words, “ Lead
us not into temptation,” which his lips
repeated. |
CHAPTER II.

THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE.

Ir was remarked that evening by the
boys who slept in the same room with
Mertoun, that: he was unusually silent.
Though generally disposed to be talk-
ative, especially when anything interest-
ing had occurred; he this evening scarcely
joined in the conversation, notwithstand-
ing that it turned entirely on the stir-
ring incidents of the day, in which he
had borne so conspicuous a part. The
boys, however, were much tired, and the
conversation soon dropped from its first
36 THE CHERRY-STONES.

animated flow to a few scattered observ-
ations, at longer and longer intervals;
until at last the most profound silence
pervaded the apartment.

But Mertoun could not compose him-
self to rest. We have seen that he had
retired to bed without having really of-
fered a single prayer for protection dur-
ing the dangers of the night. We cannot,
therefore, wonder that the evil thoughts
of the day should continue to haunt him.
Long after the heavy breathing of the
boys around him had announced that he
was the only one awake, he was tossing
restlessly upon his pillow. He thought,
again and again, over the events of the
day: his success at cricket; his clamber
over the wall; the admiration which his
skill and boldness had obtained. Still
he was restless and dissatisfied. The evil

ot
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 37

desires, which Sharpe’s conversation at
the supper-table, had raised in his mind,
gained strength the more he dwelt on
them. He could not drive the provoking
cherry-tree} with its ripe and _ beautiful
fruit, from his thoughts; and the more
he indulged: his longings, the more clear
and distinct the recollection of all he
had seen grew in his imagination. More
than once, as he was dropping off to
sleep, he was roused by finding himself
stretching out his hand to catch at the
imaginary fruit. Eleven, twelve, one, two
o’clock struck. At length, without any
settled purpose, he stole out of bed, and
crept cautiously to the window.

It was a fine moonlight night; and
every part of the playground, and orch-
ard beyond, was distinctly visible in the
clear, white light. The wall, seen from
38 THE CHERRY-STONES.

the height at which he stood, seemed a
very slight separation between them;—and
there, just where. his imagination had
placed it, stood the tempting cherry-tree.
Up to this night it had never occurred
to Harry, or to any other of the boys,
that the orchard, which they saw from
their bed-room window, was within their
reach; but now that he had actually
surmounted the obstacle that lay between
them, he had exposed himself to a tempt-
ation hitherto unknown to him. <As he
looked eagerly on the scene of his _after-
noon’s adventure, the thought suddenly
rushed into his mind, why should he not
go down stairs now; again climb the
wall of the playground, and possess him- .
self of some of the delicious fruit. For
a moment he repelled the thought, but
the next it returned with redoubled force.
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 39

The temptation, indeed, assailed him in
more than one weak point. He was
naturally fond of .sweet things; and if
he had not been carefully brought up,
might have become a greedy boy. And,
on the present occasion, he had thought
upon the cherries for such a length of
time, that he felt an extraordinary desire
to obtain them. But another point im
his character exposed him still more to
danger. He was remarkable for a -strong —
love of the romantic and adventurous ;
as, indeed, is commonly the case with
boys of a warm and eager temper. Tales
of wild and perilous exploits would at all
times arrest and rivet his attention, often
to the neglect of serious duties; and he
was apt to lose all recollection of the
folly and criminality of some of his he-
roes, in his admiration of their unbounded

‘
40 THE CHERRY-STONES.

and desperate courage. And as he now
thought of the daring and romance .of
going alone, at the dead of night, and
scaling a wall, which none of his school-
fellows would venture to attempt in open
day, he felt his heart beat more quickly,
and a thrill of strange, feverish delight
spread through his veins. The temptation
prevailed; and he resolved to make
the attempt. Noiselessly hurrying on his
clothes, he gave an anxious glance at his
unconscious companions, who were sleep-
ing soundly after the labours of the day ;
and then, taking his shoes in his hand,
crept softly out of the room.

The staircase which led to the boys’
dining and school-room was nearly dark,
and as he groped his way cautiously
across the passage, and descended, step by
step, it seemed so very long, that he
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 41

thought it would never end. He could
scarcely persuade himself it was the same
staircase he was accustomed to bound -
so lightly down in the mornings, and which
did not then seem more than a dozen
steps. More than once in his descent he
paused to make sure that he was not
observed, and fancied he heard distant
noises; but when he listened all was quiet
around him, save the slow ticking of the
staircase clock.

Arrived at the foot of the stairs, he
had still three rooms to pass through be-
fore he reached the playground; the
dining-room, the school-room itself, and
an outer room, in which the boys’ trunks
were kept, and which went commonly by
the name of the marching-room, because
in rainy weather the boys used to have
their drilling-lesson there. The doors of

6
42 THE CHERRY-STONES.

all these rooms he expected to find un-
fastened; and though the outer door of
the marching-room, which opened into
the playground, would of course be lock-
ed, yet he knew the key was always left
in the lock on the inside. He was not
mistaken. On trying the dining-room and
school-room doors, they opened without
difficulty. He encountered no obstacle,
as he passed stealthily and silently through
them. Grim and ghost-like appeared the
desks and forms as the moonlight stream-
ed in full upon them. As he looked
round, he could hardly realize to himself
that it was the scene of his daily labours,
so different was its unbroken - stillness,
and its general aspect, under the cold,
white light of the moon, from the glare,
and noise, and bustle, which enlivened it
by day. Its silence and loneliness made
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE, 43

his heart beat~more quickly, and he was
glad when, unlocking the door of the
marching-room, he found himself clear of
the house, and stepped joyfully out into
the cool night air.

His first impulse was. to cast a hasty.
glance at the windows of the house, to ©
make sure that none of the family had
been disturbed. Everything was pro-
foundly still. So far, then, all had gone
well. He moved along under the shad-
ow of the wall, until he came to the
buttress by which he had made his for-
mer ascent; but here an obstacle en-
countered him which he had altogether for-
gotten to provide for. On the previous
afternoon, he had reached the top of the
buttress by the assistance of his school-
fellows. Now, however, he was entirely
alone, and how was he to begin to climb?
44 THE CHERRY-STONES.

For a few moments he was baffled. “TI
will not give it up, though,” said he to
himself, as he measured the height of
the wall with his eye; “I will: not give
it up. The greater the difficulty, the
greater the honour; I will manage it
somehow, I am resolved.” As he pon-
dered thus, his eye suddenly rested on a
bench which had been brought out of
the marching-room on the afternoon of
the match for the use of the boys dur-
ing the game. “The very thing!” he
exclaimed; ‘how stupid of us not to
think of this bench yesterday: Ay,” he
pursued, as he laid it with its back rest-
ing against the buttress, and its legs pro-
jecting outwards from the wall, ‘This
will make a famous ladder.” Scrambling,
first on to the lower, and then the upper
legs, he speedily contrived to reach the
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 45

position from’ which he had, on the first
occasion, succeeded in raising himself to
the top of the wall; but as he -rested
on the ledge previously to making the
requisite spring, his left foot suddenly
slipped; and it was only by a vigorous
effort that he saved himself from falling
headlong into the playground. As it
was, he was obliged to step hastily on
to the bench, and from thence to the
ground, before he could recover his
équilibrium. ‘It is Walter's tiresome
marble,” muttered he, as he picked up
the alley, which, it will be remembered,
his little brother had balanced on the
ledge of the buttress the night before;
‘what a provoking child he is.” Hay-
ing thus vented his anger on the uncon-
scious cause of his misfortune, he put
the marble into his pocket, and recom-
46 THE CHERRY STONES.

mencing the ascent, soon arrived at the
top of the wall.

As, however, he was in the act of
lowering himself by the branch of the
tree into the orchard, his ear caught a
sound which filled him with dismay. It
was a rapid scuffling of feet in the play-
ground below, as though some one were
running hastily from the house, in the
direction of the buttress. He clung to
the tree in an agony of fear, not daring
either to advance or recede. After re-
maining some minutes in this position,
his anxiety prevailed so far over his fears,
that he cautiously raised himself on the
bough, and peeped over the wall. The
first glance re-assured him. ‘The occu-
pant of the playground, whose footsteps
had caused him so much alarm, was only
a favourite spaniel belonging to Dr.
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 47

Young, whose kennel stood in the garden
adjoining the playground, but who was
often left untied~at night. The animal
was greatly petted by the boys, and. espe-
cially by Mertoun, with whom it was a
frequent amusement to make his canine
friend jump over sticks, or run _ races
round the playground. This proved for-
tunate for him on the present occasion.
He had scarcely raised his head from
his lurking-place, before the quick instinct
of the dog had discovered him; and,
doubtless, had he been a stranger, she
would instantly have broken out into a loud
and angry bark. As it was, however, she
contented herself with informing him, by
a low whine, that she was aware of his
presence, and that she wanted him to
come down from the wall, and join her
in some frolic. ‘Hush, Juno, hush!” ex-
‘48 THE CHERRY STONES.

claimed Harry; “ hush, good dog ;” and,
although puzzled at so unusual a request
from Mertoun, Juno so far complied as
to desist from whining, and deliberately
seating herself opposite to the tree, ap-
peared 1o be speculating, with much grav-
ity, as to the next step which Harry
would take.

Relieved from his immediate embat-
rassment, Mertoun paused. He felt more
than half disposed to return to his bed,
and abandon the adventure altogether ;
but the Tempter now awakened his pride,
and so added a fresh motive for persist-
-ing. How inglorious, he whispered in his
ear, to go back now, after all your grand
resolutions, and the risks you have run,
and only because you have been fright-
ened by a dog. Above all, to abandon
your enterprize at the very moment when
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE, 49

the prize is within your grasp. Why,
you can all but reach the cherries from
your present resting-place. “No, no,”
said he, yielding to these thoughts, “it
would be cowardly, indeed, to give it up
now ;” so, with a parting admonition to
Juno to remain quiet, he descended swiftly
and noiselessly into the orchard, and stood,
for the second time, at the foot of the
cherry-tree.

But he had reckoned too far on Juno's
obedience. So long as Harry continued
in-sight, she considered that she had some
security that he was not going to balk
her of her expected frolic ; but, no sooner
had the boy disappeared, than she began
a series of whines, each rising louder
than the last, accompanied by an occa-
sional short, sharp bark.. Mertoun saw that
no time must be lost: in returning, lest: the

7
50 THE CHERRY-STONES.

house should be disturbed by her m-
creasing clamour. He dared not stop to
eat the fruit he had gathered ; but, thrust-
ing a few of the cherries into his pocket,
he hastily reclimbed the wall, and drop-
ped into the playground. The dog greet-
ed his return with unbounded delight,
scuffling round and round him, and mak-
ing frantic attempts to jump up and lick
his face. With difficulty—for he did not
dare to elevate his voice—he succeeded
in moderating his companion’s excessive
and most inopportune flow of spirits ;
but, at length, the dog was pacified, and
Harry had time to think over what had
happened, The excitement had passed.
The offence was committed; and its full
extent now, for the first time, rushed upon
him. It was not the number of cherries
he had taken; it was the act of taking
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 51

them which appalled him. He could
scarcely believe he had really stolen them,
and that he, Henry Mertoun, was actu-
ally a thief! For he was by no means
an unprincipled boy. We have seen that
he had exposed himself by his discontent
and disobedience to temptation ; and that
he had yielded to it; but in general his
character stood high, both in the estima-
tion of the masters and the boys, for
honesty and sincerity. It was only a few
days before, that Dr. Young had said
publicly of him, before the whole school,
that he did not believe anything would
induce Henry Mertoun to tell a false-
hood; and his remorse at what he had
now done, made him more miserable than
he had ever felt in his life. How could
he be so wicked! . How gladly would
he give up—not merely the few cherries,
Sy

52 THE CHERRY STONES.

which were now valueless to him—but
all he had in the world, if he could only
undo the work of the last quarter of an
hour! But this, he sadly reflected, was
impossible. He might be sorry for it—
he might resolve never to be led into such
guilt again—he might do all in his power
to atone for it; but he could not undo it.
He became painfully conscious of that most
terrible feature in an act of sin, that it is
irrevocable. “Oh!” said he, “if I can
only get back quietly to my room again,
this will be a lesson I shall not soon
forget.”

But there was much to be done before
he could, with any safety, think of retir-
ing to rest. His first care was to remove
the bench, and place it in its former
position. In the next place the fruit
was to be disposed of; and here, again,
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE, 53

the terrors of an evil conscience haunted
him, and raised doubts and fears in his
mind, which the sense of guilt alone could
have produced. If, reasoned he, the fruit
be found in my possession, suspicion must,
of course, light upon me. If I throw the
cherries over the wall, Mr. Ellison’s gar-
dener will find them in the morning,
and will make inquiries as to who gath-
ered them. If I leave them in the play-
ground, there will be still greater risk
of detection. He did not feel the slight-
est inclination to eat them; indeed, they
had become hateful to him, as evidences
of his guilt. No other mode of dispos-
ing of them, however, occurred to him,
and he accordingly thrust them hastily
‘nto his mouth. But, alas! no sooner
was this done, than the same terrors,
created by the same causes, met him in
54 THE CHERRY-STONES.

a new shape. What was to be done
with the stones? There they were—seven
jn number; each of them, in his excited
fancy, telling its tale of a cherry that had
been stolen! How must they be dispos-
ed of? He looked at Juno. The dog
was employing herself in scraping a hole
in a corner of the playground. ‘“ You
are right, Juno,” said Harry, speaking to
her, as though he thought she had seen
the difficulty, and had suggested a way
of removing it, “we must bury them.”
And as he spoke he enlarged the hole
with a stick, till he made it sufficiently
deep for his purpose; and then, first
throwing the stones into the hole, he
carefully covered them up with earth,
scattering a little loose dust over the spot,
so as to make it appear as though the
ground had never been disturbed ; and
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 5D

this he managed so successfully, that when
it was done, he could himself scarcely
recognize the spot. “ There,” said he, as
he sprinkled the last handful of dust,
“there let them lie; they, at least, shall
not betray me.” |

He then thought that everything was
safe; and that he might return, without
risk of discovery, to his bed-room. He
had scarcely, however, reached the door
of the marching-room, when he remem-
bered that he had his little brother Wal-
ter’s alley still in his pocket. This fa-
vourite marble. of the little boy’s had a
dark red ring round the centre; and.
might be recognized amongst a thousand.
That child, reasoned he, in the restless- .
ness of his uneasy conscience, will be sure
to make a hue and ery after his mar-
ble to-morrow, when he finds it has been
56 THE CHERRY-STONES.

removed from the buttress; and how am
I to account for having it in my pos-
session. Wearied and sick at heart as
he was, he returned to the buttress, in
order to replace it on the ledge. But
this proved no easy matter. His hand
shook so violently that the marble rolled
off no less than five times from the nar-
row slip of wall, on which he endeavour-
ed to fix it. The poor boy was more
overcome by this little difficulty than he
had been by his greater troubles. He
burst into tears, and was, in his vexation,
on the point of throwing away the alley,
and abandoning the attempt. But if I do,
again the thought occurred to him, Wal-
ter will be searching all over the play-
ground for it, and, perhaps, will light
upon the cherry-stones. He resolved to
make one more attempt, and it proved
THE GRAVE ACT OF DISOBEDIENCE. 57

successful. The marble settled firmly on
the top of the buttress, and Harry, re-
tracing his steps, as quickly as he could,
across the play-ground, and persuading
Juno to go into the garden, closed the ~
gate upon her, and then re-entered ‘the _
marching-room.

We need not follow him through the
- remainder of his progress. We may easily
imagine the mingled fretfulness and alarm
with which he drew the noisy bolts, and
turned the creaking key; the fear and
trembling with which he passed through
the three rooms, and up the staircase
now faintly tinged with the morning light ;
and the hurried glance he cast round him,
as he re-entered his bed-room, lest any of
his companions should have detected his
absence. But they were all sleeping
soundly and peacefully, just as when

8
58 THE CHERRY-STONES.

he had left them. It was evident no
one had been disturbed. He hastily slip-
ped off his clothes, and the clock struck
three as he stepped into bed. But a sin-
gle hour had elapsed since he had first
got up to look out of the window; but
it was the longest and most wearisome
hour that Harry Mertoun had ever
passed.
CHAPTER III.

WALTER’S ALLEY.

Tr was nearly half-past six o’clock. The
first bell had rung more than twenty
minutes, and the boys in Mertoun’s room
were dressed, and ready to go down stairs.
Harry, however, still continued in bed,
notwithstanding the most strenuous efforts
on the part of his companions to arouse
him. It was in vain that they remind-
ed him that he would forfeit marks;
that he would have a heavy imposition ;
that it would not improbably lose him
his prize, and the like. To all these rep-
60 THE CHERRY-STONES.

resentations he returned drowsy and fret-
ful answers. The second bell sounded.
Mertoun still refused to rise; and the
boys hastened down stairs, speculating,
as they went, on the unaccountable con-
duct of their schoolfellow ; and whether
Dr. Young would discover his absence.
Upon this latter point they were not
long left in doubt, Prayers were scarcely
over, before Dr. Young’s quick eye was
observed glancing around the school-room,
as though he had perceived that some one
was absent, ‘ Where,” said he, “is Hen-
ry Mertoun ?” There was a short pause;
and then Charles Warbeck replied, “I
believe, Sir, he has overslept himself this
morning. He seemed very tired; and, I
think, must be a little. unwell.” ‘Tired,
and unwell,” said the Doctor, as he left
the school; and the next instant his
WALTER’S ALLEY. 61.

heavy footstep was heard ascending the
staircase that led to Mertoun’s room.

Our hero’s slumbers were still unbrok-
en.when his master entered the apart-
ment, and stood silently by his bed-side,
watching, for several minutes, with much
interest, the features of the sleeping boy.
It was evident, that though his repose
was deep, it was by no means refresh-
ing. His hands were tightly clenched,
and the muscles of his face worked con-
vulsively, as though he were engaged in
some imaginary struggle; and one foot,
which protruded from the counterpane,
was slightly stained with blood.

“Mertoun,” said the Doctor, gently lay-
ing his hand on his shoulder; “do you
not know what o'clock it is?”

“Off, off, Juno!” exclaimed Harry, in
his sleep.
62 THE CHERRY-STONES.

“Do you hear me, sir?” said Dr. Young,
in a louder tone, shaking him by the
arm, as he spoke. |

“Off, Juno, off; you will crush me!”
again exclaimed the sleeper ; and, as he
uttered these words, he opened his eyes,
and fixed them in silent astonishment on
the figure of the Doctor, standing by his
bed-side. .

“Well, Harry,” said Dr. Young; who
could not forbear smiling at the dismay ¢X
pressed on the boy’s countenance , “what
did you take me for?”

“JT beg your pardon, Sir,” stam-
mered Harry, only halfawake; ‘I be-
lieve I had a disagreeable dream, that
Juno was sitting on MY breast, and sti-
fling me with her paws.”

“Ah, a nightmare,” said Dr. Young.
“You are not well, Mertoun; you must
WALTER’S ALLEY. 63

have eaten something that has a
with you.”

‘‘Oh, no, indeed!” exclaimed the con-
science-stricken boy, in alarm; “I am not
in the least ill; indeed, I am not.”

“How then comes it that you are so
late?” pursued the Doctor. Harry made
no reply.

“Well, Mertoun,” rejoined the other,
after a moment’s pause, “I am glad, at .
least, you do not attempt to deceive me
by, pretending to be ill, I had. rather
see you guilty of almost any fault than
deceit. So, as you are usually punctual,
I shall take no further notice of this
irregularity.. Dress yourself, and come
down as quickly as you can.”

He turned to leave the room, but, as
he did so, his eyes again fell on the foot
which Harry had still left uncovered.
 

64 THE CHERRY-STONES.

“Why, you have hurt your foot, my
boy,” said he, kindly stooping down to
view it more narrowly ; and very recently,
too. In what game was this done?”

“TT do not know,” replied Mertoun ;
“J suppose I must have scratched it
against the bed-post, during the night; it
was not done when I went to bed last
night.”

“You must have been indeed restless,
then,” said Dr. Young; ‘are you sure,”
he added, as he paused, with his hand
on the lock of the door, “are you sure
there is nothing the matter with you?”

“Quite sure, Sir; nothing at all,” re-
plied Harry.

Dr. Young left the room; and no sooner
was he gone, than Harry Mertoun burst
into a flood of tears. |

He had, indeed, much to make him
WALTER’S ALLEY. 65

unhappy. It was true he had escaped
detection; but his escape had been dearly
purchased by equivocation and deceit. It
was in vain that he tried to persuade
himself that he had not said anything
untrue. “I did not tell him,” said he
to himself, “that I had not eaten any-
thing out of the common way; but only
that I had not eaten anything that had
disagreed with me, and I do not know
that the cherries did disagree with me;
and, as for my foot, I suppose it was hurt
in the night; and I do not know how I
hurt it; so that was true, at all events,”
And so, indeed, it was; and evidenced
his strongly excited state during his expe-
dition; for he must, without being aware
of it, have cut his foot in some manner
while climbing the wall. But although all
this was true as regarded the letter, he
9
66 . THE CHERRY-STONES.

felt in his heart that both his answers
were, in spirit, evasions of the truth; and
now, when it was too late, he wished that
he had had courage to make a full con-
fession. “Why,” thought he, “when his
hand was on the door, and he spoke to
me in that kind voice, why did I not
obey the impulse that prompted me to
tell him the truth?” Above all, the re-
mission of his punishment by Dr. Young,
because he had not acted deceitfully,
smote upon his conscience. He felt that,
to receive this praise, and avail himself
of the Doctor’s indulgence on grounds
so entirely false, was a great aggravation
of his offence.

This inward struggle continued for
some time; but the wish for conceal-
~ment at length prevailed. It wanted only
four days to the end of the half-year; and
‘

WALTER’S ALLEY. 67

Henry Mertoun was the favourite, among
his schoolfellows, for the first prize, both
in classics and cyphering. If Dr. Young
should hear of an offence so grave as a
midnight attempt to steal fruit, all chance
of a prize, he well knew, was at an end ;
for, however regular or diligent a boy
might be, an act of dishonesty was con-
sidered sufficient to exclude him from
all hope of reward. “ You have got the
highest marks in your class,” he had said,
at Christmas, to a clever boy whom he
had detected in a falsehood; “but I can-
not give you the prize. Diligence and
great talents may be turned to evil as
well as good account; unless they are
accompanied by straightforwardness and
honesty, I will never encourage them.”
This was the very reflection that should
have led Mertoun, at all hazards, to tell
68 THE CHERRY-STONES.

the truth; but, unhappily, he thought only
of his prize, and the shame to which
exposure would subject him; so he de-
termined to drown the reproaches of
his conscience by mixing with the boys
again, and, jumping out of bed, he hurried
over his prayers, and hastily dressed him-
self. He had not quite finished, when he
heard a step on the staircase. The least
circumstance was now sufficient to alarm
him. Throwing down his waistcoat, he be-
gan in great haste to pull on his shoes, for
his stockings were so soiled with mud
and sand as to be likely to lead to awk-
ward questions ; and there was, moreover,
a hole in the bottom of one of them, and
a slight stain of blood that corresponded
too nearly with the wound on his foot,
not to afford to his disturbed state of mind
a, most unpleasant risk of discovery.
WALTER’S ALLEY. . ‘@®

The second shoe was not quite on when
the door opened, and Charles Warbeck
presented himself. “Come, Harry,” he
said, “what a time you have been. Mr.
Powell sent me up to look for you. He
thought you must have fallen asleep
again.”

“Tam just ready,” said Harry; “only
this tiresome ‘shoe never will come on. It
feels as if there was a stone sticking in
the toe of it.” j

“Off with it, man, then, and look,” said
Charles; “can I help you?” |

“No, I thank you,” replied Mertoun,
quickly ; alarmed at the notion of his
schoolfellow seeing the condition of his
stocking. “I can manage it perfectly,”
and, with a violent effort, he forced his
foot into the shoe. “ Now,” said he, “it
is all right.”
70 THE CHERRY-STONES.

Notwithstanding this assertion, however,
it soon appeared that it was not all right ;
for he had scarcely made three steps to-
wards the door, when Warbeck exclaimed,
“Why, Harry, you are walking lame;
your shoe must hurt you.”

“Tt’s all right, I tell you,” replied Mer-
toun, pettishly ; “surely I must know best
whether it hurts me or not.”

“Certainly, Harry; but, nevertheless,
you walked a little lame; not that that is
any great wonder, considering your climb
over the wall.”

“My climb, Charles! what do you
mean?” stammered Mertoun, stopping
short in the middle of the room, and
turning very pale. ,

“What do I mean?” rejoined Warbeck,
greatly astonished at the tone in which
the question was asked; “your climb
WALTER’S ALLEY. 71

after the cricket-ball, to be sure. You
have not forgotten that already, I suppose.”

Harry at once saw how nearly he had
betrayed his own secret. Conscience had
led him to mistake the meaning of a very
simple question, and another falsehood was
the consequence. ‘Of course, I knew you
meant that, Warbeck; but how could it
possibly lame me ?”

“Why, you might have sprained your
foot in getting down.”

Harry felt that he was treading on dan-
gerous ground, and that his wisest course
was to take refuge in silence.. Charles
Warbeck, who was a good-natured boy,
and who saw that, for some unexplained
reason, the subject was distasteful tor his
companion, did not pursue it further; and
they descended the stairs. together without
continuing the conversation.
72 THE CHERRY-STONES,

School was over, and the boys all as-
sembled at breakfast, when Charles and
Harry entered the room. “How is your
foot, Mertoun?” said the Doctor, as our
hero made his appearance,

“Quite well, Sir, thank you,” replied
Harry, colouring up to the eyes.

“TI am glad to hear it,” was the rejoin-
der; “I was afraid you were walking a
little lame.”

Breakfast went on as usual; but Mer-
toun had scarcely finished his first slice
of bread, before a circumstance occurred,
which, for the moment, quite deprived him
of all appetite for another. Chancing to
put his hand into his pocket, he felt a
round substance in one corner of it, which,
to his extreme astonishment, he discovered
' to be little Walter’s alley. Yes; there it
was, with the red ring round the centre ;
WALTER’S ALLEY, 73

the very identical alley that he fancied he
had left safe on the buttress the night
before. “Was it a dream?” thought he,
as he turned it round and round in hope-
less perplexity. Surely, I remember
that it rolled off five times, and that the
sixth time I succeeded in balancing it
there. By what magic can it have got
into my pocket? I suppose I must have
mistaken something else for it. But it is
very strange.”

“Take care, Harry,” whispered War-
beck in his ear, as he sat eyeing the mys-
terious alley; “take care, Mr. Powell is
looking at you.”

“And what if he is?” replied Mertoun.

“Only that he takes away our marbles,
you know, if he sees us playing with
them at breakfast.” )

The hint was not lost upon Harry ; he

10
74 THE CHERRY STONES.

hastily thrust the alley into his pocket, in
sudden alarm, lest the mysterious marble
should fall into the master’s hands.

_ Breakfast was by this time concluded,
and the boys received the usual leave to
adjourn to the - playground. They were
allowed an hour’s play between breakfast
and school; and they were not slow to
avail themselves of it. Out they rushed,
shouting, leaping, racing, and jostling
against one another, as though life and
death depended on being in the play-
ground first.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran ;

Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can.

Merioun, however, did not share in the
high spirits of his schoolfellows. He fol-
lowed, slowly and thoughtfully, in the
WALTER’S ALLEY. 75

rear; endeavouring to devise some means
of restoring his brother’s marble to him
without awakening his suspicions. Mean-
while, Walter himself had run on as fast
as his little legs could carry him. He was
terribly alarmed, lest some evil-disposed
“person should get before him, and possess
himself of his favourite alley. His heart
had more than once misgiven him for
separating himself so long from his treas-
ure. He had dreamed of it during the
night; it had distracted his attention all
through the morning-lesson ; and he had
grown so anxious during breakfast, that
even the attractions of some orange-mar-
malade, wherewith one of his little friends
had enriched the barrenness of his bread
and butter, failed to occupy his undivided
attention; as, doubtless, under other cir-
cumstances, it would have done. No soon-
76 _ THE CHERRY-STONEs,

er was the signal for ‘departure given, than
away he scampered, and, in less than two
minutes, had arrived at the spot where he
had left his favourite, He gave one look
at the buttress, His worst fears were real-
ized. His treasure was gone; and, what
was stranger still, its place was occupied,
not indeed by a marble, but by-some other
substance, distantly resembling one. Back
he ran to his brother, his constant counsel-
lor in all his little troubles, “Oh, Harry !
Harry! what shall J do? They have
stolen my marble, and—”

‘Well, Walter,” said Mertoun, who had,
of course, anticipated this piece of infor-
mation, “TI am sorry your marble is gone;
but I dare Say it is not Stolen, and that
you will find it again Soon; and, until you
do, I will lend you another, as good or
better than your own.”
WALTER’S ALLEY. 77

“Thank , you, brother; but I would
rather have my own alley back again than
have a great many new ones. Thank you
all the same. But that is not all. They
have not only taken my alley away, but
they have put something curious in its
place. Only do come and see, brother,”
continued the little boy, pulling at the
skirt of Harry’s jacket. Mertoun went
with him reluctantly enough; but he could
find no reasonable excuse for declining.
He had, however, no sooner cast a glance
in the direction in which Walter was
pointing, than he made a start of extreme
and very disagreeable surprise. If his dis-
may at the disappearance of the alley did
not equal that of his little brother, now, at
all events, he was at least equally amazed
and confounded. Resting on the narrow
ledge of the buttress, on the spot from
78 THE CHERRY STONES.

whence Walter's marble had so unac-
countably disappeared, there lay—what
an extraordinary coincidence !—a cherry-

stone ! ;
CHAPTER IV.

?

PRISONERS’ BASE.

Harry MErtToun gazed in amazement
at this unexpected apparition. Could he
have mistaken a cherry-stone for Walter’s
alley? It seemed impossible that he
could have done so. He had only eaten
seven cherries, and he had buried seven
cherry-stones; and yet what other expla-
nation could be given of so strange an
occurrence? One thing only was clear
to him. He must keep Walter’s marble
for the present. If he. now produced it,
further inquiries, difficult to answer, would
80 THE CHERRY-STONEs,

be made. He was Sorry to deprive the
little fellow of his pet plaything; but he
could not safely restore it,

“A penny for your thoughts, Harry !”
exclaimed a merry voice close behind him.
“How grave you look. There is nothing
the matter, is there?”

Harry started. “N othing that I know
of, Frederick ;” and as he spoke he turn-
ed, as if to move away from the buttress,

But Seymour was not to be so easily
Shaken off « What, then, were you star-
ing at? A cherry-stone, I protest! Well,
there is nothing that I can see SO very
astonishing in a cherry-stone,”

“T did not Say there was, Seymour ;
and why should yOu suppose there ig ?”
retorted Mertoun, with an ineffectual at-
tempt to appear unconcerned.

“Only because of the manner in which
PRISONERS’ BASE. 81

you were staring at it. What do you
think of it, Walter?” added Seymour,
observing the perplexity of the little boy’s
face.

‘Never mind, Walter,” interrupted Har-
ry; “we shall lose all the morning if
we wait here. Let us choose sides for
some game ;” and, taking Seymour by the
arm, he drew him away from the spot.

“But, Harry,” said little Walter, who
was not disposed to let the subject drop
so easily, “do not go away. I want you
to attend to me.”

Mertoun hesitated. He was not desir-
ous of protracting the conversation with
Walter; but he was afraid that he would
make some one else his confidant, if he
refused to listen to him. And besides, to
do Harry justice, he was very sorry for
his brother’s disappointment, and for the

11
82 THE CHERRY-STONES.

share he had had in it. “Go on to
Charles,” he said to Seymour. “I will
soon join you.” And then, taking Wal-
ter on one side, he inquired what he
wanted,

“Why, Harry, I want you to advise
me how I am to get my alley again. Do
you not think I had better speak to Dr.
Young about it? Perhaps he would be
able to find out the thief.”

“Nonsense; ask Dr. Young about a
marble, indeed! No! no! hold your
tongue; and, as I told you, I will give
you another instead. It is useless to talk
about it; unless, indeed, you Suspect some-

body ; shied, I suppose, you do not.”
“But I do Suspect some one,” said
Walter, in a low, confidential tone; “and
if you will promise not to laugh at me,
I will tell you.”
PRISONERS BASE. 7 83

“Yes, that I will,” replied his brother,
from whose thoughts nothing could be
further than laughter at that moment.
“Who is it?”

“ Well, then,” said Walter, gravely, “I
think it was Juno.”
“Juno!” exclaimed Mertoun. “ You
extraordinary child; who ever heard of
a dog stealing marbles ?”

“There, now,” said Walter, “you pro-
mised not to laugh at me.”

“But you are so droll, child, Who
could help laughing at such a notion?”

“Why, brother, I have heard of a
magpie stealing spoons and forks, and I
do not see why a dog should not steal
marbles.”

“Excellent reasoning! And what makes
you suspect poor Juno?”

“Why, I thought I heard her barking
84 THE CHERRY-STONES,

in the playground early this morning;
and just now she rushed out before me to
the very place where I had left my alley,
and put up her paws, as though she
wanted to scramble up there. And only
look at her now, with all the boys round
her. Look how she is scratching up the
ground, just as if she had buried some-
thing. Besides, brother,” continued Walter,
with a conviction that now, at all events,
he was putting forward an argument
which could not be answered, “if it was
not Juno, who could it have been?”
The cogency of this logic, however, was
lost upon Mertoun; for no sooner did he
perceive the dog’s employment, than sud-
denly breaking off his conference with
Walter, he rushed forward, crying, “Juno!
Juno! good dog! heigh for a race.”
And away went Juno, obedient to the
PRISONERS’ BASE, 85

well-known summons, to the great disap- —
pointment of the group of boys, who had
been watching her proceedings with the
greatest interest.

“Oh, why did you call her away, Har-
ry ?” said Warbeck. ‘“ We were having
such fun with her. I am sure she smelt
a rat.”

“No, no!” said Walter, who at that
moment came up; “it was not a rat; it
was my alley. Has any one seen an al-
ley anywhere ?”

“Yes, Walter,” answered Warbeck,
good-naturedly; ‘I have seen a_ great
many alleys in the course of my life;
but what was yours like?”

“Oh, it was a most beautiful alley !”
said Walter, “with a red ring all round
it.” 3 |

“Well, then,” said Warbeck “T think
86 THE CHERRY-STONES.

I saw it not an hour ago; and, what is
more, I do not think it is so very far off,
but that it may return to you again.”

As Charles said this, he pointed shily
at Mertoun’s pocket. This again changed
all Harry’s plans. To deny his posses-
sion of the alley would now be more un-
safe than to avow it. How crooked and
uncertain are the ways of deceit! Truly,
indeed, has the poet written,

«Oh, what a tangled web we weave,

When first we practise to deceive!”

and sadly was Harry beginning to illus-
trate this truth by his rapid progress in
duplicity.

“Ts this your marble, Walter?” said
he, taking it from his pocket, and trying
to force a smile, as he held it up to
view.
PRISONERS’ BASE. 87

“Oh, yes, indeed it is; thank you,
Harry; thank you! Where did you
find it?”

“Ah! where, indeed, Walter? You
had better ask Juno.”

“Ay, by all means ask Juno,” said
Warbeck; “but not just now, because
we want her to find the rat for us. Come,
then, Juno, where’s the rat?”

“This way, Juno!” cried Harry, call-
ing her back.

“No, no! here, Juno! here!” cried
-half-a-dozen voices, as they saw the dog
about to obey Mertoun’s summons.

Juno kept running, to and fro; first to
one party, and then to the other.

“Here! here! rat, Juno! rat!” shouted
Seymour, grubbing with a stick in the
hole which the dog had begun to dig,
and which was not above an inch or two
88 THE OHERRY STONES.

from the spot where the cherry-stones
were buried. Juno immediately thrust
her nose into the hole, and began digging
most vigorously. Mertoun was in de-
spair. Another minute, and his secret
must be discovered. He made a last, ef-
fort, and in a low, reproachful tone called
the dog away. The dog acknowledged
his appeal, and crept, submissively, to his
feet; nor could anything again induce
her to leave him.

His companions in vain endeavoured to
persuade him to give her up. Harry’s
fears were too strongly excited to allow
of his complying. “Get her, if you
can,” was the only reply he vouchsafed
to all their entreaties, threats and re
proaches.

“Never mind,” said Warbeck, at Sat’
“Jet us leave him,and the dog together.
- PRISONERS’ BASE. 89

He will soon .be tired of her, and want
to join us.”

This, however, did not prove to be the
fact. The whole of that playtime our
hero was constant in his attentions to
Juno. It seemed as if he had become
her slave. He followed her wherever she
went; and was afraid to leave her for a
single moment, lest she should betray the
spot where the cherry-stones were con-
cealed. It was a wearisome and degrad-
ing task; and never had he looked for-
ward so anxiously to the hour of play,
as he now did to the ringing of the
school-bell.

His companions kept to their resolution
of leaving him to Juno’s society; and he
had only one interruption during the re-
mainder of the play-hour. Walter had
been for some time amusing himself with

12
90 THE CHERRY-STONES.

alternately aiming the cherry-stone at the
marble, and the marble at the cherry-
stone. He was a most thoroughly-honest,
simple-hearted, little boy; and, in the
middle of his solitary game, the thought
suddenly struck him that the cherry-stone
did not belong to him. Instantly, he ran
to his brother, and exclaimed, “ Brother,
I have brought you back your cherry-
stone; will you give it to me, if you do
not want it yourself?”

“My cherry-stone! you little plague;
what do you mean by calling it mine?
What have I to do with it?”

“Why, you know, I have got my
alley back again, so it cannot be mine;
but will you give it to me?”

“Oh, yes ;—or, stay, give it to me, and
I will crack it for you” and, as he spoke,
he stamped upon and crushed it. “ There,
. PRISONERS’ BASE. 91

Walter, now you can pick the kernel
out and eat it.”

“But I did not want the kernel,” said
Walter, the tears rising in his eyes; “ I
wanted to play marbles with it.”

“Foolish boy! play marbles with a
cherry-stone! I will give you one of my
best alleys in its place.”

“ Will you, indeed?” said Walter.

“Yes; but remember, it is upon one
condition; that you do not say a word
about the cherry-stone until the end of
the half-year?”

“Not to say the word cherry-stone,”
responded Walter, doubtfully, ‘‘until the
end of the half-year.”

“Yes; perhaps that will be the safest
way. You are not to say the word
cherry-stone until the end of the half
year.”
92 THE CHERRY-STONES.

“But why not? Is it a naughty word,
brother Harry ?”

“Never mind why not; but if you
will promise, you shall have the marble.”
“JT will promise, then,” said Walter.

“Here, then, Walter,” said Mertoun,
producing an alley from his bag; ‘there
it is for you; but remember, if you say
the word cherry-stone, I shall take it away
again.”

Walter scampered off with his newly-
acquired treasure. He did not under-
stand clearly what had occurred; but he
remembered that he was but six years
-old, and could not, therefore, be expected
to understand everything; and, moreover,
as he had recovered his own alley, and
gained another besides, he did not see
any great cause for inquiring into the cir-
cumstances. He settled in his own mind,
PRISONERS’ BASE. 93

first, that his brother was very clever to
find his alley; secondly, that he was very
kind to give him another; and thirdly,
that he would have a good game with his
two marbles, now he had got them. This
last resolution, however, was unhappily
cut prematurely short by the sound of
the school-bell; which at once broke off
the boy’s game, and relieved Mertoun
from his embarrassing occupation of watch-
ing Juno’s movements.

School-time passed away much as usual, | |
the only remarkable thing being that Mer-
toun’s lessons had never been so ill done
before. This was, in truth, not surpris-
ing. He was wholly unable to fix his at-
tention on his books. The narrow escapes
he had had of detection,—the scratch on
his foot,—the chance question of War-
beck,—his brother’s marble,—and Juno’s
94 THE CHERRY-STONES.

rat-hunt,—all seem to have conspired to
betray his guilt. Nor were these his most
unpleasant recollections. The various sub-
terfuges and evasions by which he had
contrived, for the time, to divert suspicion,
were yet more distasteful > and he looked
forward to the three days, which must
yet pass before the end of the half-year,
with a feeling of weariness and disgust he
had never known before.

Meanwhile, his companions began to
wonder at the change which had come
over him. His refusal, in the morning,
to let Juno hunt for the rat had greatly
diminished the favour with which he was
usually regarded ; and his blunders form-
ed the subject of many ill-natured re-
marks. ‘Such strange mistakes as he
made in construing the passages in Virgil,”
said one. ‘And two false quantities!”
PRISONERS’ BASE. 95

cried another. “And three gross blunders
in his ciphering,” added a third. ‘Mr.
Powell said they would have been dis-
graceful to his brother Walter,” said a
fourth. “Talk of his getting two prizes,
indeed,” said Sharpe; ‘I shall be very
much surprised if he gets one.” War-
beck, alone, remained faithful to his friend.
He maintained that Harry was probably
unwell; and that> the exertions he had
undergone on the previous afternoon were
the cause of his depression ; besides which,
everybody was liable to do‘worse at some
times than at others; and as for the
prizes, it was absurd to suppose that the

marks of two days could change the marks
of a whole half-year.

The prizes at Charlton School, it should
be remarked, were given to the boys who
had been most diligent during the whole
96 THE OHERRY-STONES.

half-year; and the most successful in the
examination at its close. A book was
kept, in which the marks obtained by
each boy, for every lesson, throughout the
half-year, were registered. ‘To these were
added the marks gained in the half-yearly _
examination, which always took place on
the day before the boys went home ; and
whoever was then found to have the
greatest number, received the prize, un-
less, as has been already remarked, some
great act of disobedience, especially an act
of dishonesty, should deprive him of it}
which it always did, however superior he
might have proved himself in talent or in-
dustry. ‘To prevent constant rivalry, Dr:
Young never permitted the marks to be
added up until the day on which the
prizes were awarded. ‘There were always,
however, conjectures among the boys as
PRISONERS’ BASE, 97

to whose names stood highest on the list;
nor were they often far wrong in their
conclusions. In the present half-year,
Henry Mertoun was the favourite, both
for the classical and ciphering prizes; but
the result was considered to be very un-
certain ; Charles Warbeck in classics, and
Edward Sharpe in ciphering, were sup-
posed to be running him very close.
The decision of the Friday, therefore,
was looked forward to with much inter-
est; and hence Mertoun’s failures had at-
tracted unusual attention.

But the playtime was too precious to
be wasted in speculations on any subject.
All called out for play. Many games
were suggested and abandoned; and at
last Warbeck proposed a renewal of the
cricket-match of yesterday; but there
were many dissentient voices. “It would

13
98 THE CHERRY-STONES.

be so tiresome,” said West, “ again to lose
the ball in the orchard. Do not you
think so, Harry?” he added, addressing
our hero, who at that instant made his
appearance In the playground.

“Well, and if we do,” said Sharpe,
“Harry can get over the wall and fetch
st for us. Cannot you, Harry

There was nothing at all strange in the
question ; but such is the nature of guilt,
that it made Harry feel very uncon
fortable; especially when he remembered
bis conversation with Sharpe at the sup-
per-table. He hastily answered, that he
thought anything was better than cricket;
and the majority appearing to be of
his opinion, the idea was abandoned.

“Well, at any rate,” said Seymour,
“Jet us do something. What do you all
say to a game at prisoners’ base ”
PRISONERS’ BASE, 99

“JT have no objection,” said Warbeck,
looking doubtfully at Mertoun. “ The
only thing is, whether it may hurt your
foot, Harry.” This was suggested most
good-naturedly ; for Charles had observ-
ed, or at least fancied he had observed,
that his friend was still a little lame.
Mertoun, however, was greatly annoyed
at the remark. He had not forgotten the
conversation before breakfast, and chose
to fancy Warbeck was still harping on
his unwillingness to take off his shoe.
He declared, with much vehemence, that
he was never less lame in his life; and
that there was no. game he preferred to
prisoners’ base.

“Hurrah, then!” shouted Seymour;
‘“we are unanimous at last. Warbeck
and Mertoun .choose sides; and Warbeck
must have first choice, because Mertoun
100 THE CHERRY-STONES.

was never less lame in his life; and so, I
suppose, he will beat us all.”

This sally produced a laugh, in which
all but Harry joined. The boys tossed
up for the choice. The sides were chosen,
and the game commenced with much
spirit.

Now, notwithstanding Mertoun’s angry
declaration to the contrary, his shoe was
very far from comfortable. He had con-
tinually felt during the day the same in-
convenience which had troubled him in
the morning. He had been afraid to take
off his shoe at that time, because War-
beck would have seen the state of his
stocking; and, although during school-
time, he had abundant opportunities of
doing so without the slightest risk, ouilt
is ever so suspicious, that he always fan-
cied some one was watching him, so that
PRISONERS’ BASE. 101 -

the stone still continued in his shoe when
the game at prisoners’ base was proposed.
So long as he remained quiet, it caused
him but little annoyance; but no sooner
did he begin to exert himself in running,
than it became very troublesome; and it
was only by a painful effort that he
more than once escaped being taken pris-
oner.

_ At length, as he grew warm with the
excitement of the game, he began to be
ashamed of his former fears. ‘ How ab-
surd,” thought he, “to keep this abomi-
nable stone in my shoe all day; as if
any boy would observe whether my
stockings are dirty or clean; or, if they
do, as if they could possibly guess the
cause. I will have it out now, at all
events.” And down he sat on a bench
close at hand, and began untying his shoe.
102 THE CHERRY STONES.

“What are you at now?” said Mark-
land, one of the boys on his side. “It
is our turn to challenge. Go out and
challenge Warbeck. Seymour and I will
be after him the moment he has crossed
the line; and if we catch him, the game
will be ours.”

“Tn one minute, George,” said Mer-
toun. “I want to get the gravel out of
my shoe, and then I shall be’ ready for
you.” How strange 4 thing is deceit.
Harry well knew that it was a stone, of
some kind, that was annoying him; and
yet, without any definite reason, he had
called it gravel. He was becoming accus-
tomed to avoid speaking the exact truth.

There was a pause in the game. “ Let
me help you, Harry,” said Walter, run-
ning up from the corner where he had
been watching the players.
PRISONERS’ BASE. 108

“Thank you, Walter; it is done,” said
Harry. “Now let us see what it is that
has been giving me this annoyance all
day.” As he spoke, he put his hand
into the shoe, and, to his surprise and
dismay, produced—a cherry-stone |

“Oh, brother!” cried Walter, ‘ why,
if there is not the—” and then suddenly
recollecting his promise, he put his hand
to his mouth, and stood gazing in silent
astonishment at the contents of his broth-
er’s shoe. It did not occur to the little
fellow that there were many cherry-stones
in the world. He fancied that the one
he saw before him was the identical cher-
ry-stone which he had seen on the but-
tress in the morning; and which, having
been crushed to pieces by his_ brother,
had, in revenge, found its way into his
shoe. Instinctively he put his hand into
104. THE CHERRY-STONES.

his pocket, and was not a little comforted
to find that both his marbles were safe,
notwithstanding the mysterious re-appear-
ance of the cherry-stone.

“ Hallo!” said Seymour, coming up at
this juncture, and perceiving the two
brothers gazing at the stone which Harry
still held in his hand, “what have we
here? Another cherry-stone, I declare.
Why, where did this come from ?”

“Tt came out of his shoe; it did, in-
deed,” said Walter, thinking it too won-
derful an occurrence to be easily credited.

“Out of his shoe! I suppose, then,
that is what you have been complaining
of, Harry? What on earth could induce
you to keep a cherry-stone in your shoe
all day ?”

“T did not know what it was,” replied
Mertoun, in great confusion.
PRISONERS BASE. 105

“Well, at all events, it is out now,”
interposed Markland, impatiently ; ‘‘so |
suppose we may go on with the game.”

The delay that this incident had caus-
ed, attracted the attention of the boys
on the other side. ‘ What is the matter,
George?” called out West; who, being
on Warbeck’s side, was not allowed, by
the rules of the game, to come to the
spot where Markham and Seymour were
standing.

“What is it, Walter?” said Sharpe,
beckoning to the little boy to come to
him.

“I promised not to tell,” was the re-
ply.

‘ Nonsense, — why, you have had
no time to promise.”

“Ah! but I promised this morning
not to say the word.”

14
106 THE CHERRY-STONES,

‘““What word do you mean? I do not
understand you,” said Sharpe, growing
more and more perplexed.

“Ah! I see you want me to let it
out; but I am too cunning for that,”
said the child, pursing up his lips as he
spoke, as though he were afraid that the
secret would escape in spite of him; and,
nodding his head, retreated to his cor-
ner, where he sat down on his stool, and
waited to see the game begin again.

“Markland!” cried Sharpe, whose curi-
osity was a good- deal excited by Wal-
ter’s strange reserve, ‘what on earth has
Mertoun found that there is such a mys-
tory about ?”

“Nothing but a cherry-stone,” was the
reply; “and there is no mystery at all
about it, that I know of.”

‘“‘ Mystery, or no mystery, here it goes,”
PRISONERS’ BASE. 107

said Harry; and, as he spoke, he flung
it from ,him, with a jerk that sent it over
the wall, far into the middle of the or-
chard. As he did this his eye, for a
moment, caught that of Sharpe. ‘There
was no mistaking its expression. It was
clear that some suspicion had crossed his
mind. Our hero was more than ever
alarmed. All he could do, however, was
to get on his shoe as quickly as pos-
sible, and divert attention by resuming
the game. Ile overheard’Sharpe say, in
a low tone, to Warbeck, ‘ Charles, where
do you think that cherry-stone came
from ?” |

“Upon my word,” replied Charles, “I
do not know, any more than where it is
gone to; and what is more, I do not
care. But look, there is Mertoun going to
challenge us.. Two to one he names me,”
108 THE CHERRY-STONES.

Scarcely had these words been spoken,
when Harry shouted, ‘“ Charles Warbeck !”
at the top of his voice. Away ran the
boys, and the moment the line had been
passed, away darted Seymour and Mark-
land in pursuit. Everything depended on
the challenger being able to dodge round,
before he reached the end of the play-
ground. It was a manoeuvre Harry was
famous for executing with success; but
on this occasion he ran without any of
his usual animation; and the very first
feint he made, he was touched, and made
prisoner by Warbeck. His second and
third in command finding their scheme
frustrated, endeavoured to provide for
their own safety; but in vain. They,
also, were made captive, and lodged with
their leader in durance vile, at the other
end of the playground; and Mertoun’s
PRISONERS’ BASE. 109

side having thus lost their three best run-
ners, their defeat followed, as a matter
of course. Fresh sides were chosen, and
another and another game played; but
always with the same result. Mertoun
always lost. At last, hot and tired, and
more than half out of temper, from his re-
peated defeats, he begged them to choose
sides anew, and to continue the game
without him. Warbeck immediately of-
fered to leavé off also, and to come and
sit with him. But to this arrangement
Harry would by no means agree. He
fancied that Charles wanted to ply him
with more questions about the cherry-
stone; though nothing could, in reality,
be further from his friend’s thoughts;
end he declared that he eee preferred
being alone.

So he sat down by himself, sadly enough,
110 THE CHERRY-STONES.

in the corner of the playground, while
his favourite Juno came and rested her
large, black head on his lap, as though
she understood and sympathized in all
his troubles. It was very strange, he re-
flected, that it should have been a cherry-
stone that had troubled him all day; that a
cherry-stone should have spoiled his morn-

ing’s amusement; and that just as he

was beginning to recover his spirits, a
second cherry-stone should have appeared,

-and again destroyed his pleasure. Some

connection they must have with his
night’s adventure. ‘I remember I was
very hurried and confused,” he said to
himself; “and it is not surprising; and
yet I feel almost certain that I buried all
the stones; well, I was mistaken, and
there is an end of it.” Then, again, he
was vexed to be obliged to acknowledge
PRISONERS’ BASE. 111

to himself, that the very measures he had
taken to ensure concealment, had had the
effect of bringing him to the verge of de-
tection. Seymour’s surprise at the ap-
pearance of the cherry-stone was only
occasioned by his having kept it in his
shoe all day ; and the promise he had
exacted of Walter, in the morning, was
the principal cause of Edward Sharpe’s
suspicions. But this is always the case
with guilt; its own restlessness is its most
frequent betrayer.

Such were Harry Mertoun’s sorrowful
reflections, as he sat in the corner of the
playground, with nobody but Juno for
his companion. The merry shouts of his
schoolfellows, who were still engaged in
their game, served only to deepen his
depression. He was vexed with himself,
and thoroughly unhappy. But, alas! his
ET

oe Ee ee eee

112 THE CHERRY STONES.

sorrow had nothing of real repentance in
it. He would have given much to undo
what he had done; but he felt even less
inclination than before, to take the only
course his conscience approved. He clung
to the hope that all would yet go well;
and that, by to-morrow, he should have
forgotten all about the matter; above all,
he trusted that no more cherry-stones
would make their appearance. In order
to secure this, as much as possible, he felt
carefully in all his pockets, and satisfied
himself that now, at least, there were
none concealed about his person.

This gave him some comfort; and when
he joined his schoolfellows in the supper-
room, he had recovered his composure,
and chatted and laughed with them as
usual. Nay, their sprightly conversation
seemed to have banished all his disquiet-
PRISONERS BASE. 113

ude; and, as Dr. Young paused at the
door of the school-room, when he went
in to read prayers, he heard his voice
the loudest and the merriest of all. No
one, who looked at his clear, open coun-
tenance, or listened to his cheerful laugh,
could have believed he was the same boy
who, not an hour before, was sitting in
his solitary corner, weighed down by a
sense of unrepented sin, the burden of
which he had only cast aside for awhile.
Trily, it isa mystery; that strange privi-
lege, which boyhood alone seems ‘to pos-
sess, of being at once sinful and light-
hearted. It is, as it were, the mingling
of the pure and the impure in the same
cup, without the whole draught becoming
polluted. In after years, guilt has its
moments of wild and feverish delight;
but boys, and boys alone, can sin, and
15
114 THE CHERRY-STONES.

be sorry for awhile, and then fling aside
all thought of it, and feel as though they
had never sinned at all. In infancy, the
consciousness of sin is a thing unknown.
In manhood it presses on the heart like
an ever-present burden; but in boyhood,
itis like an April cloud, which flits over
the landscape, darkening it for awhile,
and then passing away altogether, and
leaving it as bright as ever. Of the
many mysteries of boyhood, this is, per-
haps, the most inscrutable.

Dr. Young looked more attentively than
usual at Mertoun when prayers were over,
and thought that, notwithstanding his
high spirits, he was paler than was his
wont. “Harry,” he said, “I am afraid
you are a little unwell. Unless you are
quite recovered in the morning, you had
better not get up; and Mrs. Young will
PRISONERS’ BASE. 115

send you some tea. Good night, boys.
Go up quietly to bed; and do not chat-
ter, and make a noise in Mertoun’s room,
as you are sometimes apt to do, as I wish
Harry to get as sound a night’s rest as
possible.”
CHAPTER V.

THE TWO DREAMS.

Dr. Youna’s kindness had renewed all
Mertoun’s feelings of remorse. He walk-
ed slowly up stairs, reflecting, mournfully,
how little he had deserved it. The only
thought which gave him comfort was that
the long, dreary day was ended, and that
he might forget his troubles in sleep.
“ Let me have a good night’s rest,” thought
he, “and I shall be a different being; and
then I will to-morrow resolve upon the
course it will be most prudent for me to
take.’ Endeavouring thus to quiet his
THE TWO DREAMS. 117

conscience by postponing all reflection, he
undressed himself, and stepped into bed.

But the night began with an evil omen.
His head had scarcely touched his pillow,
before he bounded out again with a cry
of astonishment, that startled, and almost
frightened his companions. ‘ What is it,
Harry?” “Is it a pin? ora needle? or
a rat?” cried two or three voices at once.
“Oh!” exclaimed Mertoun, throwing back
the bed-clothes as he spoke, “what shall
I do? there is a cherry-stone in the mid-
dle of my bed.”

The tone in which these words were
uttered, appeared so ludicrously dispro-
portioned to the cause which elicited
them, that they provoked a smile, even
from the quiet Warbeck,-while the more
mercurial spirits received them with shouts
of laughter. Seymour, in particular, who
118 THE CHERRY-STONES.

had come into. the room to ask some
question of Warbeck, (for he himself did
not sleep in Mertoun’s room,) seemed as
‘+f he never would cease laughing. Wal-
ter alone sympathized in his brother's
alarm. He drew cautiously near the bed,
eyeing the cherry-stone with an air of
suspicion, as though he expected it .to fly
at him. “I beg your pardon, Harry,”
said Seymour, getting up from the bed,
upon which,he had flung himself in his
paroxysm of laughter ; “T really beg your
pardon; but you look as though you had
seen a ghost! Had it been a cherry-
pie, now,” he continued, looking round
him, “it would have been a different
matter; but being a cherry-stone, I would
recommend you to throw it out of the
window.”

Harry had by this time recovered his
THE TWO DREAMS. 119

self-possession. ‘Of course,” said he, as
he threw the cherry-stone into a small
pond, which lay in the garden below, “of
course there is no difficulty in getting
rid of a cherry-stone; but it was very
careless in Sally to leave it in the bed.
You know, it might have been a needle.”

‘“Nay,” rejoined Seymour, affecting to
understand his words literally ; “it might
in time have been a tree; but certainly
not a needle.”

“Nonsense, Seymour!” interposed War-
beck; “it is excessively disagreeable to
find things left in one’s bed; and if
I were Harry, I would complain to Dr.
Young.” |

“Complain to Dr. Young!” exclaimed
Mertoun, his suspicions again aroused at
this speech; “T shall certainly not trouble
him about such a trifle.” |
120 THE CHERRY STONES.

“A trifle!” remarked Sharpe, who had
hitherto sat perfectly quiet; but keenly
observing what was passing; “a trifle,
you call it? You did not seem to con-
sider it a trifle just now, | think.”

Mertoun made no reply. Silence was
his best mode of escape from the awk-
ward dilemma into which his conscious-
ness of guilt had led him. Seymour
would have pursued the subject, but War-
beck entreated him to let it drop ; remind-
ing him that Dr. Young had ordered
them to be quiet, in order that Mertoun’s
repose might not be disturbed ; and hint-
ing, at the same time, that if the Doctor
should hear any noise, and come, in con-
sequence, up stalls; he would, probably,
select Seymour for punishment, because

he was out of his own room.

“With all. my heart, Charles,” said
THE TWO DREAMS. 121

Seymour, in answer to this appeal; “I
only hope our friend here will not dream
of a cherry-stone, or he will certainly dis-
turb the whole house.”

This observation would, under ordinary
circumstances, have led to fresh skirmish-
ing; but Mertoun was resolved to be
upon his guard. No further remark,
therefore, was made; Seymour soon after-
wards took his departure; and Harry,
overcome by the fatigues of the last
night, and the troubles of the day, quick-
ly fell asleep. | |

But sleep rarely brings rest to a troub-
led conscience. And so it proved in the
present instance. His imagination still
continued to be engrossed by the same
subject which ‘had occupied his waking
hours; only that his present fancies were
more wild and fantastic than those which

16
122 THE CHERRY-STONES.

had haunted him through the day. He
dreamed that he stood alone in a large
and beautiful garden. The air was fra-
grant with the rarest flowers ; and every
variety of fruit grew in rich abundance
around. Immediately before him rose a
cherry-tree, whose enormous branches, far
exceeding in size any he had ever seen,
were loaded with ripe and delicious fruit.
At his feet lay his favourite Juno; her
eyes gazing intently on the tree, and
sparkling with the brightness of diamonds.
As he eyed the tempting clusters, which
the great height of the tree placed far
above his reach, he thought that the lofty
stem suddenly bent towards him, till the
loaded branches almost touched the ground.
He stretched out his hand, and plucked
a cherry ; and he had no sooner done so,
than the tree sprang back again to its
THE TWO DREAMS, 123

former position. Seven times was this
repeated. Again and again the tall trunk
stooped till the branches came within his
reach, and each time did he gather a
cherry from the rich store it offered to
his choice. But, as the tree rose erect
for the seventh time, a marvellous change
came over the face of things, A chill,
wintry blast swept through the sky» and,
in an instant, every trace of life and
beauty had passed away from the garden.
The flowers fell withered from their
stalks; the foliage vanished from the
trees, only a few sere and yellow leaves
remained, clinging to the naked branches.
It was a scene of bleak and dreary win-
ter; but the strange fantasy of a dream
added features which no winter land-
scape ever presented. As he cast his
eyes upwards to the cherry-tree, he per-
124 THE CHERRY-STONES.

ceived that. the fruit, with which the
boughs had been thickly covered, had all
| vanished; but the stones still remained,
and high and wide the bare, rugged
branches were studded with clusters of
cherry-stones. He looked downwards, and
saw that the seven cherries he held in
his hand had shared the same fate, and
nothing but seven stones met his view ;
and, instead of his favourite Juno, he saw
only the skeleton of a dog, with its fiery
eyes still fixed upon the tree. As he
stood, horror-stricken, and unable to with-
draw his eyes from the appalling sight,
the violence of the wind increased. First,
the. cherry-stones were dislodged from the
branches, and fell thick as hail in all direc-
tions around him. Presently the branches
themselves were torn off by its fury, and
whirled like withered leaves into the air,
THE TWO DREAMS. 125

leaving the black and crooked trunk alone
standing. As Harry continued to gaze,
in fear and wonder, at this strange spec-
tacle, the trunk itself seemed suddenly to
be endued with life, and to twist and
writhe as though it had become a serpent.
Harry made a feeble attempt at flight;
but his feet were rooted to the ground.
“Moving slowly towards him, it wound its
huge length round his body, coil above
coil, till he appeared to be completely en-
circled in its folds) The horror of his
situation at length broke the spell, that
seemed to paralyze his limbs; and, with
a violent effort to disengage himself from
the cherry-tree, he awoke. |

It was some time before he could per-
suade himself that the frightful scene he
had. just gone through was wholly im-
aginary. The perspiration stood thick on
126 THE CHERRY-STONES.

his forehead, and his frame felt bruised
and benumbed, as though only just re-
leased from the grasp of the cherry-tree.
He scarcely dared to open his eyes, lest
they should encounter its hideous writh-
ings, or light upon the spectral figure of
the skeleton dog. But the boy’s mind
and body were alike weary. Nature
claimed her privilege in spite of his ter
ror; and he had not fully recovered from
its effects, before he again fell asleep.

His second dream also took the shape
and colour of his waking fears. He im-
agined that it was the morning on which
the school was to break up, and that the
boys were assembled to receive the prizes.
But, with the wild inconsistency of a
dream, the scene was not laid in the
Charlton school-room, but in a wide, open
plain, extending so far in every direction
THE TWO DREAMS. 127

that the eye vainly endeavoured to discov-
er its limit. Immense multitudes, reach-
ing to the utmost verge of the horizon,
stood round, awaiting the result ; and even
horses and dogs seemed to share in the
general excitement. The table, at which
| Dr. Young was seated, with the prizes
spread out before him, was placed in the
centre, and a wide space, on every side
of it, was left entirely clear, Ag Harry
looked on, he was struck with the extra-
ordinary distinctness with which the shad-
Ows were traced on the ground. There
was the shadow of Dr. Young; the shad-
ow of the table; the shadow of each
separate book on it; the shadows of every
one of his schoolfellows, as clearly and
plainly recognizable from one another as
the substances to which they belonged.
His wonder at this phenomenon was in-
128 THE CHERRY-STONES.

terrupted by a summons from the head-
master, to come and receive the first prize.
It was a proud thing, he thought, to be
singled out for distinction in the face of
that vast assembly; and he moved for-
ward from the throng of boys, elated with
his success; but he had not advanced
many steps, when a shout arose from be-
hind, “Look at his shadow! look at his
shadow!” He cast his eyes instinctively
downwards, and, to his horror, beheld the
‘outline of a cherry-tree traced behind
him on the grass. There was the stem,
the branches, and the fruit; rudely form-
ed, indeed, but still plainly distinguish-
able. It had something human, too, in
its shape; and even bore a grotesque Pe
semblance to himself. There could be
no doubt it was his own shadow. A cry
of derision burst from the assembled mul-
THE TWO DREAMS. 129

titude. Harry heard it; and it added the
finishing stroke to his‘ shame and confu-
sion. Away he rushed across the plain
with the rapidity, it seemed, of the wind;
and, as he did so, he could hear the
shouts of the multitude, hurrying after
him in hot pursuit. The yelping of dogs,
and the clattering of horses’ feet, were dis-
tinctly audible amid the uproar. On he
darted, climbing hills, leaping down pre-
cipices, dashing through torrents, in the
vain hope of shaking off his hateful at-
tendants. Nearer and nearer came the
pursuers; louder and louder grew the tu-
mult in his rear; at length, just as they
were on the very point of seizing him, he
again awoke,

As he opened his eyes he became sen-
sible that the sounds which had disturbed
his sleep were not wholly imaginary

17
1380 THE CHERRY-STONES.

The galloping of the horses, and the
yelpings of the dogs, indeed, were no
longer heard; but their place was sup-
plied by the clamour of the six o'clock
bell, whose rusty throat was sending forth
sts discordant summons. It is probable,
that the clamour which it made had found
its way into Harry’s sleeping senses, and
shaped ‘tself into this singular termin-
ation of his dream. Mertoun felt grateful
tO it, tired and unrefreshed as he was, for
delivering him from the unnatural shadow
under which he had been so painfully
Jabouring.

“Ah! I was afraid that noisy bell
would wake you,” said Warbeck.

«“ And why should you be afraid of that,
Charles?” said our hero, endeavouring to
rally; “you would not wish me to get
‘nto another scrape for missing prayers ?”
THE TWO DREAMS. 131

“No,” replied Charles; “but the Doc-
tor said you had better lie in bed this
_ Morning; and unless you are to get up,
you know it is as well not to have your
rest disturbed.”

“You mistake, Charles,” said Harry;
“Dr. Young only gave me permission to
lie in bed if I felt unwell; but I am all
right this morning; and as he spoke, he
left his bed and began to dress. But,
notwithstanding his assumed cheerfulness,
it was evident he was still suffering from
indisposition.

“You had really better remain in bed,
Harry,” said Warbeck; “your eyes are
as heavy as lead; and you may make
yourself eee ill, if you persist in
getting up now.”

“Ay, do lie in bed, brother,” said Wal:
ter; “and make yourself quite well by
132 THE CHERRY-STONES.

to-morrow. You know to-morrow is your
birth-day ; and mamma will certainly send
us a hamper. And if you are ill you
will not be able to enjoy it.”

“By all means lie in bed!” exclaimed
Sharpe, on whose mind visions of cake
and wine, ‘yet to be’ had, produced con-
siderable impression; “and take care of
yourself; you must mind and be well to-
morrow, of all days in the year.”

All the boys joined in the same re
quest; and Harry, at last, allowed him-
self to be persuaded. He did, indeed,
feel unwell. His head seemed dizzy and
confused, and his whole frame ached with
weariness. Nor was his illness much to
be wondered at, considering his exposure
to the night air without his hat; and the
protracted anxiety of the last twenty-four
hours.
THE TWO DREAMS. 133

The boys proceeded with their toilet
with that celerity which ig Supposed to
belong to schoolboys and the canine genus
only, and Mertoun was soon the sole Oc-
cupant of the room. Left to his solitary
thoughts, he began to meditate upon. his
dreams. He was no coward; nor was he
naturally inclined to be superstitious ; but
he could not divest his mind of a vague
apprehension that they foreboded some
misfortune, which the stolen cherries were
in some way or other to bring upon him.
He knew that both dreams might be ac-
counted for without supposing anything
supernatural. Every circumstance might
be referred to something which had occur-
red during the day, and which had taken
a painful hold on his memory. But still
he felt an indefinite alarm, which he tried
in vain to shake off It wags go singular
184 THE CHERRY-STONES.

that the tree should have bent itself ex-
actly seven times; and that, when the
seventh cherry was gathered, everything
should so suddenly become bleak and
miserable. And then the shower of cher-
ry-stones, and the stem of the tree turn
ing itself into a snake, and twisting itself
round him—did it not seem as though
the sin he had committed was to go on
haunting him incessantly, until it brought
some terrible punishment upon him ?—
And as for the second dream, its meaning
was still more distinct and alarming.
Was the story of the plundered cherry-
tree, indeed, to interpose between him
and the reward of his labours? Was it
to cling to him for ever? and would all
efforts to shake off the disgrace be vain?
“ Nonsense!” at last, said he, after he had

pondered over these ideas until he had
THE TWO DREAMS. 135

worked himself into a fever of apprehen-
sion; “what a goose I am! It is a
dream, and that is all. I have been
thinking about the cherry-stones all day,
and it cannot be surprising if I dream of
them at night; and that is the beginning
and the ending of the whole matter.”

His reflections were interrupted by the
opening of the door; and his friend War-
beck appeared, with the tray, containing
the tea and dry toast, which Dr. Young
had sent up for his breakfast.”

Warbeck arranged the tray according
to his friend’s directions; and then fetch-
ed a trunk, and seated himself on it by
the bed-side. |

“T hope you will find it sweet enough,”
observed he, after a short silence; “I
saw no less than three lumps of sugar
put into it.”
136 THE CHERRY STONES,

“That was all right,” returned Mer-
toun, whose predilection for sweet things
we have already remarked upon; “tea
can hardly be too sweet to please me.”

“Ah! so said your brother Walter;
and you may thank him for your extra
allowance. He persuaded Mrs. Young to
let him sweeten the tea according to his
own fancy. He is a nice little fellow,
Harry. Everybody likes him. Even Dr.
Young seemed taken with his zeal in
your behalf, and helped him to pick out
the best lumps; but he would not, never-
theless, yield to his request, and allow
him to bring up the tray himself.”

“Why should Walter,” said Mertoun,
whose suspicions the least thing was sufli-
cient to arouse, “be so anxious to come?”

“Why; the wish was natural enough,
surely ; and besides, I dare say he wished
———— OOOO se lO ” —"

THE TWO DREAMS. 137

to be the first to-tell you the news of the
morning. Come, now,” pursued Warbeck,
seeing that his companion’s curiosity was
a good deal excited, “what is the news?
I will give you three guesses, and lay
you a wager you do not hit upon it.”

“T should never guess, Charles. I have
no talents for guessing.”

“Come, I will give you a hint then.
What the Doctor told us may, perhaps,
account for the cherry-stone found in
your bed last night.”

“ Account for the cherry-stone found
in. my bed last night! What can you
mean, Charles?” said Harry.

“Try and guess.” Harry shook his
head, impatiently.

“Must I give you another hint? It
had something to do with Squire Ellison,
then. Do not start in that way, or you

18
1388 THE CHERRY-STONES.

will certainly upset the tray. It has
something to do with Squire Ellison, I
say. Now can you guess ?”

“T have not the slightest idea of your
meaning, Warbeck,” said Harry, turning
pale.

“Why, how dull you are this morning,
Harry. Come, now, it has something to
do with Squire Ellison’s orchard; with
Squire Ellison’s cherry-tree. Now, surely,
you cannot help guessing it.”

“T tell you I cannot guess it!” cried
Mertoun, fretfully. “I wish you would
not weary me in this way, Charles. If
you have anything to tell me, tell it to
me at once. I am tired of repeating that
I cannot guess it.”

‘The fact was, that, prompted by the
stings of conscience, Harry was satisfied
in his own mind that Squire Ellison’s
THE TWO DREAMS. 139

gardener had discovered, from the foot-
marks in the orchard, that some one from
Dr. Young’s had been stealing cherries;
and that a complaint had, in consequence,
been sent to the head-master. Mertoun
also fancied that Charles Warbeck, either
having been commissioned by the Doctor |
to do so, or, in order to satisfy his own
curlosity, was putting all these questions
to him in order to discover if he was im-
plicated in the business; and he therefore
resolved to persist to the last in asserting
his ignorance of the transaction. On the
other hand, Charles, utterly unsuspicious
of what was passing in his friend’s mind,
and having a conscience at peace with it-
self, continued merrily to ‘py him with
fresh hints.

“Come, Harry,” he said, “this is too
absurd. When I tell you it was a mes-
140 THE CHERRY-STONES.

sage from Squire Ellison, and that it had
something to do with his cherry-tree, you
must be able to guess it. Why, even
little Walter would have guessed it in
half this time.”

~ «But I am not little Walter,” said
Mertoun, still more crossly than before ;
“and Ido not know what right you have
to suspect me of knowing more about it
than any one else.”

“Suspect, Harry! What a strange
word! I do not suspect you of any-
thing. You are, surely, taking this tri-
fling matter in a very odd way.”

“ Are you going to tell me, or are you
not?” .

“ Are you going to upset that cup of
tea into my lap, or are you not?” said
Charles, laughing good-humouredly at his
friend’s vehemence. ‘Because, if you
THE TWO DREAMS. 141

kick about in that way, you certainly
will.”

“Tt is you, Warbeck, who make me
restless,” retorted Mertoun; “and, I must
say, I think it is very ill-natured of you
to persist in teasing me, when you know
I am ill.”

“Indeed, Harry, I did not mean to
tease you; and I am sorry I have done
so. It was thoughtless of me, certainly ;
but, really, I did not intend to annoy
you; and, after all, this news is hardly
worth repeating. It is only that the Doc-
tor informed us, after school this morning,
that Squire Ellison had, last evening, sent
the boys a large basket of cherries, and
that we are to have cherry-pie for dinner
to-day. That is the piece of news, Har-
ry, I had to tell you; and that is all the
news there is, so far as I know.”
CHAPTER VI.

THE QUARREL.

Harry Merroun breathed more freely
after receiving a communication so differ-
ent from what he had anticipated. “Is
that all?” said he. “It really was not
worth the mystery you made about it.”

‘“T made no mystery, Harry. The
mystery was made by yourself.”

“Perhaps so; but,” said he, hesitating-
ly, “you said it might—it might account
for the cherry-stone in my bed last night.”

“Why, Sally might, you know, have
filched a few cherries from the basket,

142
THE QUARREL. 143

and dropped one of the stones whilst she
was making your bed. It would be odd
enough if she were to be found out by
such an accident, would it not?”

“Tt would, indeed,” said Mertoun; and
then, ashamed of allowing suspicion to
rest upon a person whom he knew to be
entirely innocent, he added, quickly, “but
it is very unlikely that it happened in
that way. Sally is a most honest girl.
I have often left odd halfpence. about,
and have never lost anything.”

“Far be it from me to say otherwise,”
said Warbeck; ‘and I did not mean se-
riously to suspect her. What I said was
only in joke. Not but that many _per-
sons who would shrink from the thought
of stealing money, would not hesitate to
steal fruit; though, of course, the one
act is as dishonest as the other.”
144 THE CHERRY-STONES.

My readers will not wonder that Mer-
toun had no disposition to argue this
question. He flushed crimson as he heard
his companion’s ,chance observation; and,
to hide his confusion, took up the tea-
spoon, and began violently stirring his
tea, an occupation which he had desisted
from in his anxiety respecting Warbeck’s
secret.

“How very odd it is!” he exclaimed,
“that this lump of sugar will not dis-
solve. I have been stirring it almost ever
since you came into the room, and I can-
not make any impression upon it.”

“Take care! take care!” exclaimed
Warbeck, as he saw the tea circling round,
and running over the edge of the cup.
“Tf you stir it at that rate, you will up-
set it, Surely, sugar must have melted
long before this. Take it out, and see
 
 

Page 146.
THE QUARREL. 145.

what it is. It cannot be a lump of sugar,
I am certain.”

“Will you be convinced if you see if
with your own eyes?” replied Harry,
peevishly ; fishing with his teaspoon for
the refractory lump. ‘Look here,” he
said, as he lifted the spoon out of the
cup; “look, and satisfy yourself” But
he had scarcely spoken these words, when
he gave a start, so violent as effectually
to destroy the already tottering equili
brium of the tray. The tea-cup was up
set, and the whole contents discharged
directly into Warbeck’s lap. Mertoun
scarcely observed the accident. His eyes
were fixed on the spoon. Instead of a
lump of sugar, he had brought to light
another cherry-stone !

“‘Warbeck!” he exclaimed, angrily,
“you put that cherry-stone into my tea.’

19
146 THE CHERRY-STONES.

“Indeed,” said Warbeck, starting up,
and hastily wiping his clothes; “TI did
not; but it was you, Harry, who put
that tea into my lap.”

“T am glad of it!” retorted Mertoun;
“it served you right; and I wish it had
been scalding hot.”

“Upon my word, Mertoun, this is a
little too bad. I get a ducking in return
for bringing up your breakfast; and then
am told that it serves me right.”

“Why, then, did you put that cherry;
stone into my tea? It was as likely as
not to have choked me. I must say I
think you are carrying a joke a great
deal too far.”

“T have already told you,” said War-
beck, temperately, “that I did not put it
into your cup; and I do not know who
did. Be reasonable, Harry; and think
THE QUARREL. 147

what possible object I could have in do-
ing so.” |

Mertoun was silenced, but not con-
vinced. His anger was not in the least
abated; but he had no pretext for disbe-
lieving Charles’s assertion. |

“ But,” said Warbeck, after a short si-
lence, “your breakfast is quite spoiled
by this unlucky upset. Let me go down
stairs, and try to get some more for
you?” |
“No, I thank you,” replied Mertoun,
not over graciously ; “TI have had enough
of it already.” |

‘ Knough! why, you have scarcely tast-
ed it, Harry.”

“I wish you would not persist in con-
tradicting every word I say, Warbeck,”
rejoined Mertoun, with still greater irri-
tation in his tone. “I do not want any
a — —————<—

Ss _- --” —_

148 THE CHERRY-STONES.

more. Will that satisfy you? If it will
not, go and tell Dr. Young all about it.”

“Well, and if I did, I do not see any
thing to make him angry; especially, as
the cup and saucer are not broken.”

“Go, then, to him, by all means. You
can make a good story out of the cher-
ry-stone. You can say that it very
nearly choked me. It might have done
so, you know, if it did not.”

“ Really, Mertoun, I did not come here
to quarrel with you; but you seem de-
termined to fasten a quarrel upon me.”

“You have done nothing but tease me
ever since you came into the room.”

“Tn that case I had better go away
again; and leave you and your cherry-
stone together.”

“The sooner the better,” retorted Mer-

toun.
THE QUARREL. 149 —

Warbeck walked slowly to the door.
He paused a moment, with his hand on
the lock, hoping that his friend would
ask him to return. But Mertoun only
turned impatiently in his bed; and he
left the room.

As the door closed upon him, however,
Harry was almost inclined to burst into
tears again. He felt more wretched than

ever. He had quarrelled with his best |

friend. During all the years they had
been at Charlton together, they had never
parted in unkindness until now; nor ex-
changed such angry words as had passed
between them that morning. And, what
was worse, conscience told him that. the
blame of the quarrel rested entirely with
him. He felt as though he had forfeited
_Charles’s friendship for ever; as though
the remembrance of his ill-temper could
‘

150 THE CHERRY-STONES.

never be obliterated. It is at such mo-
ments as these, that we feel the full value
of friends like Charles Warbeck; whose
quiet, even-tempered kindness, never ris-
ing to any great warmth of profession,
but always uniform, and to be relied on,
forms a stay and prop to which we un-
conscioysly cling; and the full strength
of which} we seldom realize until we are
in danger of losing it. As Harry thought
over Warbeck’s gentleness and forbear-
ance, and his own ingratitude, he sobbed
as though his heart would break. Those °
odious cherries! How he hated the very
sound of the word. And yet, strange as
it may seem, he felt less inclination to
avow his fault than ever. He resolved,
indeed, to beg Charles's pardon, and ex-
press his sorrow for his petulance, on the
earliest possible occasion; but his very
THE QUARREL. 151

fear of losing his friendship, made him
the more anxious not to fall lower in his ©
esteem; nay, notwithstanding his extreme
regret at having given his friend offence,
he was not sorry he was gone; so much
was he afraid of his pursuing his in-
quiries respecting the cherry-stones. After
the lapse of another hour or so, he dress-
ed himself, and went down stairs, not
many minutes before the boys were sum-
moned to dinner.

Meanwhile, Warbeck, as he descended
the stairs, began to reproach himself for
his conduct to his friend. It was true, in-
deed, that Harry had been fretful and
unreasonable; nor had he given him any
- just cause of offence; but he thought
that he had not made sufficient allowance
for his illness. “I ought not,” soliloquiz-
ed he, “to have continued to plague him
152 THE CHERRY-STONES.

about the stupid fruit; though, after all,
+ was the cherry-stone that made him
so angry. By-the-by, how strange is all
this mystery about these cherry-stones !
How could this last one have got into
Harry’s cup? No one came neat the
table, after Mrs. Young had poured out
the tea, except Walter and myself. It
must have been dropped into the cup
whilst I left it in the hall, [ suppose; or,
perhaps, it was put accidentally into the
teapot with the leaves.”

His speculations were interrupted by
little Walter, who came running up to
him, to inquire how his brother was.
“Ts he a great deal better, Charles? Does
he say he will soon be well ?”

“He is much the same, Walter; but
I do not think he is seriously ill. But,
Walter, come here; I want to ask you
THE QUARREL. 153

a question, Now speak the truth: Was
it you who put the cherry-stone into his
tea-cup just now ?”

“Indeed! indeed, I did not,” replied
Walter, with a face of great disquietude ;
“but was it really there?”

“Tt,” said Warbeck, “what do you
mean by ‘it?’ There.was a cherry-stone
in the cup, certainly.”

Walter did not reply to the question.
He continued to identify all cherry-stones
with the one he had found on the but-
tress, and which had first excited his
wonder. It had now, as he supposed,
come to light for the fourth time; and
appeared at the bottom of his brother’s
tea-cup. He was just on the point of
opening his mouth to tell Warbeck all
his doubts and fears, when he recollected
his promise respecting. the word cherry-

20 |
154 THE CHERRY-STONES.

stone; and, breaking short off at the be-
ginning of his speech, he stared at his
companion with an expression of the
most ludicrous perplexity,

“Well, Walter,” said Charles, eyeing
him with great surprise, “why do | you
gape at me im that strange way? Do
you know anything about this business,
or not?”

“T must not tell,” gasped Walter; “I
promised not to say the word.”

“Not to say the word—not to say
what word? the word cherry-stone ?” é

Walter nodded.

“« And why did you promise that e

“J do not know,” said Walter.

“ Well,” said Warheck, losing all pa-
tience at this new mystery, “ at all events,
you can say whether you know how the

cherry-stone got into your prother’s cup.” —
THE QUARREL. 155

“Tndeed, I do not. How should I?
It is the strangest thing- I ever knew in
my life. I saw Harry crush it to pieces
yesterday morning, throw it over the wall
in the afternoon, and into the pond in
the garden last night; and this morning
it has got into his tea-cup. I do not
think I ever heard anything so strange.”

“Tt is very strange,” repeated Warbeck,
absently ; and rather following the cur-
rent of his own thoughts, than attend-
ing to Walter’s remarks.

“Ts it not?” said the little boy, de-
lighted to find a big boy as much puz-
zled as himself; and then he added,
doubtfully, “‘Was Juno near at the time,
Charles ?”

“Juno! child? What is your little
head running on? What can Juno have
to do with it?” |
156 THE CHERRY-STONES.

“T do not quite know,” said Walter ;
“but Juno was very busy looking at it
when we found it on the wall.”

Warbeck looked steadily at Walter, to
see whether he was making game of him.
But there was an expression of ingenu-
ous honesty in the boy’s face, that it was
impossible to mistake. He was evidently
in earnest. Some strange mystery W ar-
beck thought. there must be about these
cherry-stones ; but he could get no clue
to it; and whatever it might be, it was
no business of his. Moreover, the time
for his class to be called up was approach-
ing, and he had not yet finished prepar-
ing his Homer. So, for the present, dis-
missing the subject from his thoughts, he
re-entered the school-room, and seating him-
self at his desk, was soon deeply absorbed
in the mysteries of moods and tenses.
THE QUARREL, 157

The dinner-table that day presented an
unusual display of luxuries. Instead of
rolls of suet pudding, the usual homely
fare on Wednesdays and Fridays, the
board groaned beneath a goodly array of
cherry-pies, which sent forth an odour,
which, as Seymour remarked to his neigh-
bours, was grateful to the senses of the
expecting boys, as the savour of the per-
fect hecatomb was said, in their morning
lesson, to have been to the nostrils of the
cloud-compelling Jupiter. Indeed, as Sey- .
mour further remarked, they had a decid-
ed advantage over the king of gods and
men, seeing that the savour of the pies was,
to them, but a preliminary pleasure to the
more substantial one which was to follow;
whereas, the less fortunate cloud-compeller
was fain to content himself with the odour
of his hecatomb, in default of a more
158 THE CHERRY-STONES.

solid mode of enjoying it. Harry Mer-
toun, who, as We have already informed —
our readers, had made his appearance
some few minutes before the boys went
in to dinner, was seated next to War-
beck. It was evident that their quarrel
was at an end. Harry had made use
of the short space afforded him, to ask
Charles’s forgiveness for the petulance and
J|-humour he had shown. It was readily
ranted ; and they were now conversing
together with that mixture of shyness
and elaborate politeness, which boys usu-
ally manifest towards one another when
a quarrel has been settled between them.
Mertoun, however, notwithstanding all his
efforts to be cordial to his friend, was evi-
dently ill at ease. The sight of the cher-
ries, which Squire Ellison’s bounty had
bestowed on the boys, aw oke unpleasant
THE QUARREL. 159

reflections; and he was not sorry his in-
disposition precluded him from partaking
in the feast. It was a relief to him when
the table was cleared and grace said; but
as the boys got up, at its conclusion, to
leave the dining-room, Dr. Young desired
him to remain behind. ‘You may all
go,” said he, “excepting Henry Mertoun;
I wish to say a few words to him.”
Now it happened, not unfrequently,
that the Doctor detained a boy for a few
minutes after dinner, when he had re-
ceived a letter from his parents or friends;
or when he wished to make any slight
change in the arrangements for the day ;
or had anything to say respecting the
school in general, which he did not think
of sufficient importance to announce to
all the boys publicly. This was particu-
larly the case towards the end of the
160 THE CHERRY-STONES.

half-year; so that no one was surprised
when Harry was desired to remain; OT,
indeed, thought much about it. But Mer-
toun’s was an evil conscience; and, more-
over, his ideas had of late been so en-
tirely occupied with one subject, that he
fancied everything that happened must
have some reference to it. So that, when
he was left alone with Dr. Young, his
alarm and embarrassment was 80 evident,
that the latter could not fail to observe
it. “Why, Mertoun,” he said, “what is
the matter? I am not going to punish
you. Did you suppose I was?” he con-
tinued, as he noticed with surprise the
boy’s increasing perturbation; “I trust
you have not been doing anything which
would lead you to expect that I was?”
Harry’s lips tried to shape a negative, but
in vain; and, after two or three attempts
THE QUARREL. 161

to reply to the question asked him, he
cast his eyes on the ground, and was
silent.

“There is something very singular in
this conduct,” said Dr. Young; “your
manner leads me to suppose that you
have done something which you feel to
be wrong. If this is indeed the case, let
me remind you that itis your plain duty
to confess it at once, and without reserve.
And, further, that it is your duty to con-
fess it to me, to whose hands your par-
ents have entrusted you; and who am
responsible to them, and to One higher
than them, for my care of you. Remem-
ber, deceit is in itself a grievous sin; and
that your offence, whatever it may be,
will be greatly increased, if you do not
deal honestly and truthfully with me.”

Harry shook from head to foot. He

21
162 THE CHERRY-STONES.

had: neither courage to speak, nor hardi-
hood to persist im remaining silent. The
Doctor could not help pitying his mani-
fest distress.

“Harry,” he said, kindly taking his
hand, “do not think I wish to be harsh.
towards you. I would not willingly give
you pain; but I should be no true friend
of yours, if I forbore to speak to you as
I have done.”

Mertoun burst into tears. His better
feelings were roused by the mingled kind-
ness and solemnity of his master’s man-
ner. He was upon the point of opening
his lips to make a full confession, when
he was interrupted by a knock at the
door; and, before Dr. Young had time
to prevent them, two persons entered the
apartment.
CHAPTER VII.

THE HAMPER FROM HOME.

‘PLEASE, Sir,” said Sally, as she en-
tered the room, closely followed by little
Walter, “please, Sir, may I take Master
Mertoun’s hamper into the school-room ?
Master Walter wants so much to see what
is in it, that he has persuaded me to ask
your leave to have it opened at once.”

“Certainly not, Sally,” replied Dr.
Young, greatly vexed at the interruption.
“The hamper is not to be opened until
I give the order for it to be done. Wal-
ter must restrain his curiosity until J

163
164 THE CHERRY-STONES.

have done speaking to his brother. Go
into the playground,” he continued, as
he saw Walter about to approach his
brother, who had studiously kept his
face averted from him. ‘Go into the
playground, and wait until he comes to
you.”

Walter and Sally left the room by dif-
ferent doors, both somewhat abashed at
the reproof they had received ; and Dr.
Young again turning to Harry, renewed
his exhortations to him to declare what
wes weighing upon his mind.

But the interval which had elapsed
since the knock at the door was heard,
brief as it was, had produced a great
change in Mertoun’s feelings. In the first
place, the arrival of the hamper had re-
minded him that the following day was
his birth-day. Now, whenever a birth-
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 165

day occurred during the half-year, it was
customary for the friends of the boy to
send him a hamper; and it was Dr.
Young’s practice to allow the boy, and
such of his schoolfellows as he might in-
vite, to pass the afternoon in an unfur-
nished room, looking out upon the gar-
den, and removed equally from Dr.
Young’s own apartments and the school
premises. Here, on an ancient deal-table,
\which, ‘with some benches, formed the
sole, surviving furniture of the room,)
they used to spread their banquet, and
enjoy themselves after the manner of
boys, in the uncontrolled possession of
fraits, sweetmeats, pastry, and cakes.
And the feast concluded, the remainder
of the afternoon was usually passed in
playing forfeits, hide-and-seek, and similar
games. Harry recollected that he had
166 THE CHERRY-STONES.

already asked several of his friends to
spend the afternoon with him, in the
event of the arrival of his hamper. He
felt certain that “if Dr. Young should
hear of the serious offence -he had com-
mitted, he would not grant him the usual
indulgence, and then he would have to
explain to the boys whom he had invited
the cause of the refusal. It also occurred —
to him that his father and mother would
undoubtedly inquire of his brother and
himself, on his return home, as to the
events of his birth-day, and thus the
knowledge of his offence would reach
them also: for, even if he could succeed
in evading their question himself, he
could not silence his brother, who would,
as a matter of course, tell his mamma the
whole of his disappointment. Then, again,
the Tempter whispered him that he was
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 167

not bound to betray himself; that it was
one thing to tell falsehoods, and another
to say nothing; that he had made up his
mind never to offend in like manner
again; and, as for punishment, he had
already suffered more than he deserved.
These, and similar thoughts, rushed across
his mind in far less time than it requires
to recount them; and the result was, that
when Dr. Young again addressed him, he
found him in a state of mind widely dif-
ferent from that which he had manifested
before the interruption. To all his earn-
est entreaties to him not to conceal the
truth, and his warnings of the danger of
doing so, he made no reply. He with-
drew himself into obstinate reserve, that
iron frontier of a boy’s heart which it is
so difficult to pass, and which all, who
are familiar with them, must frequently
168 THE CHERRY-STONES.

have assailed in vain, When asked to
account for his recent agitation, he replied
that the Doctor had alarmed him by call-
ing him back unexpectedly ; that there
was nothing the matter; and, lastly, that
nothing particular had of late occurred,
Dr. Young soon relinquished the at-
tempt; and, merely saying, ‘ Well, Mer-
toun, we must hope it isso; but you cer-
tainly seemed to be unusually disturbed,”
passed on to another subject. “ There
are two things,” said he, “which I wish
to speak to you about. In the first place,
I had to announce to you, the arrival of
a hamper for you from your father. But
Sally has saved me that trouble, by an-
nouncing it herself. I suppose you will
wish to have the usual indulgence for
yourself and friends?” Harry bowed.
“The other matter I have to mention is
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 169

also, in some degree, connected with your
_ birth-day. ‘To-morrow, you are aware, is
the day of the half-yearly examination.
As the first class boys will, probably, be
of your party, I will examine them in .
the morning, and the junior classes in
the afternoon. The first class, therefore,
will come into the dining-room at nine
o’clock to-morrow, morning, and the ex-
amination will continue until noon; Make
this known in ‘the school, Harry; and
now you may go and anes your
hamper.”

Our hero lost no time in availing him-
self of this permission. He had felt
humbled and degraded in his master’s
presence ; and he was glad to escape from
his penetrating glance. But he had no
wish again to go amongst his schoolfel-
lows. He would gladly have been: alone,

22
170 THE CHERRY-STONES.

He wanted to reflect upon all that had
occurred, although he knew that such
reflection would only increase his wretch-
edness. He had, however, no opportunity
of retirement. On entering the school-
room he was beset, on the one hand, by
a crowd of boys, eager to learn why the
Doctor had detained him so long; and,
on the other, by his brother Walter, who
anxiously inquired whether he had ob-
tained permission to open the hamper.
From the former he was soon able to
disengage Himself, by telling them, briefly,
that Dr. Young had’sent for him to tell
him that the first class would be exam-
‘ned in the morning, instead of the after-
noon; and then, turning to Walter, an-
nounced that permission had been oiven
for the hamper to be unpacked; and that
he would immediately go with him, and
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 171

bring it into the school-room. In truth,
Mertoun was quite as eager as his brother
to unpack the hamper. Not that, in his
present frame of mind, he cared for its
contents; but since he could not be alone,
he sound some new excitement, which
might divert his thoughts into a new
channel, and he was not disappointed.
The arrival of a hamper was an event
of no small importance in Charlton school ;
and no sooner did it make its appearance,
than it was welcomed with a shout of
acclamation, and a general crowding to-
gether of Harry’s friends, Its contents
were explored, and submitted to the in-
Spection of the by-standers. It was de-
clared to be a capital hamper.

“Harry knows how to seep his _birth-
day,” said one,

“And his friends seem to understand
172 THE CHERRY-STONES.

how it ought to be kept, also,” rej oined
another.

“J wish he may get a prize,” added
West. .

“T should just think he would, too,”
said Styles. “I only wish I had half as
good a chance.”

“He deserves one, if any boy ever
did,” said Markland.

“ Ay, that he does ;” and “I wish I
was half as clever!” was echoed from
every tongue.

Mertoun listened for the first few mo-
ments with satisfaction, to the general
buzz of applause. His vanity was grati-
fied by the magnificence of his hamper,
and the admiration it had excited; for,
like most boys of his age, he was pat-
ticularly desirous that everything which
came “from home” should be perfectly
\ THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 173

unexceptionable, School-boys, of ten and
twelve years of age, always represent
their friends as living in a style of the
utmost refinement and grandeur; and
their dignity is grievously outraged by
anything which tends to show that their
mode of life is on a level with that of
their neighbours. He felt, therefore, that
the family dignity had been honourably
maintained on the present occasion; but
the pleasure soon passed away, and was
succeeded by a feeling almost of disgust.
He placed the packages, which he had
taken out of the hamper, one by one, in
his box, for security, until they should
be wanted on the following day; and
he had scarcely turned the key upon
them, when, something attracting the at-
tention of the boys, he found himself
entirely deserted by the crowd, which had
174 THE CHERRY-STONES.

been pressing so eagerly round him afew
minutes before. He felt no disposition to
join them. He put the key into his
pocket, and was slowly turning away,
when he was stopped by his brother
pulling at his sleeve.

“ Harry,” said the little fellow, “pray
look if there is not a letter for us in the
hamper? I want to know how papa and
mamma, and Constance, are; and the rab-
bits, and the red-cheeked apples in the
orchard. Do you know, I think papa
means to let me have a poney all to
myself these holidays, and perhaps the
letter may say something about it.”

Mertoun was much vexed with himself
as he heard Walter’s request. In the ex-
citement of unpacking the hamper, and
listening to his schoolfellows’ praises, he
had forgotten to look for a letter. Now,
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 175

however, he applied himself to search
among the hay; and, after a long scru-
tiny, brought to light two small paper
packets, directed to himself and Walter ;
and, also, two letters similarly addressed.
It was impossible for Mertoun not to
envy the broad, simple delight which the
little boy’s face exhibited, when, having
untied his parcel, he produced from it a
bright, new Victoria half-crown, Only
look here, brother!” he exclaimed ; “only
look here! a whole half-crown!” and
then, seating himself on a bench by Har-
ry’s side, he proceeded to open his letter,
occupying himself partly in fruitless at-
tempts to decipher its contents, and partly
in speculations on the various articles he
intended to purchase with his newly-ac-
quired wealth; and certainly, if his half.
crown realized only a tenth part of his
176 THE CHERRY-STONES.

expectations, it would be the most won-
derful half-crown that ever issued from her
Majesty’s Mint.

Having watched his brother’s move-
ments for a few minutes, Mertoun turned
te his own package and letter. He look-
ed at the latter first. It contained some
lines of cordial congratulation and good
wishes on the return of his birth-day ; and
informed him that they had sent him the
choicest of the ripe fruit in the garden;
the best cake that his friend Mrs. Bridget,
the housekeeper, could produce ; and the
present his father was in the habit of
making him on his birth-day ; and con-
cluded with a confident anticipation, that
Dr. Young would be able, in his breaking-
up letter, to speak as favourably of his
general conduct and attention to his: stu-
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THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 177

Mertoun breathed more freely as he
laid down the letter. His mind was in
such a state of nervous excitement, that
he imagined everything, however remote-
ly connected with the subject of his fears,
would, in some unforeseen way, bring it
up again; and although his good sense
told him that his alarm was, in the pres-
ent instance, utterly unreasonable ; _ still
he was relieved when he was assured
that it was groundless, Taking up the
packet: “A half-sovereign, of course,” he
said, as he opened it; “papa does not in-
tend to give me a whole one, I know,
until I go to a public school; and that
will not be for another twelve month. It
does not feel like a half-sovereign, either.
Hah!” he exclaimed, with a scream, as
the parcel dropped from his hand, “ what
can this mean?” Walter looked up as

23
178 THE CHERRY-STONES.

he heard his brother’s exclamation, and
saw him staring, in mingled fear and as-
tonishment, at a cherry-stone, which the
last wrapping of paper had disclosed.

“Oh, Harry!” he exclaimed, “ that
dreadful thing again! Do pray tell Dr.
Young, brother; I am sure he would
prevent it from coming again. Do you
know,” he continued, lowering his voice
as he spoke, “I think it must be a ghost;
and that it is sent to haunt you. I
thought it was only people who had done
very naughty things who were haunted
by ghosts.”

“Hold your tongue, you little block-
head,” said his brother, angrily; “how
can you talk such nonsense? I more
than half suspect the boys are in league
to play me some trick. One of them
must have taken the halfsovereign out

a
 

THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 179

of the parcel, and put this cherry-stone
in its place. I will know who it is, I am
determined. I will not be cheated, and
made a fool of in this way; and if I

thought that you, Walter,” (for Harry
had, by this time, worked himself into a
towering. passion,) “had assisted them to
put these cherry-stones in my way, I
would box your ears. I would,” he re-
peated, taking the child by the shoulders,
and shaking him roughly. Walter burst
into tears. “Oh, Harry, how ean you be
so unkind. I do not want,” said he,
struggling to escape from his brother's
grasp, “I do not want your alley at all.
I will give it back to you. It was very
naughty of you to make me promise to
say nothing about it.” Mertoun’s fears
were greatly excited. He saw the neces-
sity of propitiating Walter; and, com-

 
|

180 THE CHERRY-STONES.

manding his irritation as well as he was
able, he took the child on his knee, and
began to try to persuade him that he
was only. in jest. ‘“ Why, Walter,” he
said, ‘you do not think I was in earnest,
do you? I should have shaken you a
great deal harder if I had intended to
hurt you. Think no more about that
silly cherry-stone; and do not tell the
boys about what has happened, for: they
might think that I meant to be really
unkind to you.”

Harry had a more difficult task than
he had anticipated. Walter, though a
quick-tempered boy, was warm-hearted,
and very forgiving; but he could not get
over the impression that his brother was
not joking when he shook him; and,
moreover, he had a vague, lingering sus-
picion that it was wrong to say nothing
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 181

about these repeated appearances of the
cherry-stone. The school-bell had rung
before Mertoun had fully succeeded in
restorring the sunshine to his face; and it
was not without some misgiving lest the
child’s look should betray him, that he
set him down from his knee, and desired
him to run into school as fast as he could,
whilst he himself followed slowly after.
He seated himself at his desk with a
heavy heart. Matters were growing worse
and worse; and where would his diffi-
culties end? He had now been harsh
and unkind to his little brother; and
had pretended to be affectionate to him
when he really did not feelso. And his
half-sovereign, too! Such a sum was a
serious loss; and, besides, his father would
be certain to ask him how he had spent
it; and suspicion must arise if he put up
182 THE CHERRY-STONES.

with the loss without an effort to recover
the money. Yet, on the other hand,
there was still greater risk in complaining
to Dr. Young; for then, of course, the
history of the mysterious cherry-stones
must be made known, and the whole sub-
ject sifted, from beginning to end. Then,
again, his thoughts dwelt in great perplex-
ity on the extraordinary circumstance of
the stone being found in the parcel from
home. Moreover, his harassed mind shar-
ed, to some extent, Walter’s notion, mon-
strous as it seemed, that there was some-
thing supernatural in the business. Guilt
is always prone to be superstitious. ‘‘ Was
it fated,” thought he, “that the seven
cherry-stones he had buried, should re-
turn upon him in some strange way, until
the whole had been brought to light?”
Five times already had a cherry-stone
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. ' 483

come across him in a manner that was
wholly inexplicable to him. He reasoned
against the idea, and tried. to drive it out
of his mind; but he could not entirely
succeed. And what, with his attention
being absorbed by these thoughts, and
what, with the furtive glances he, from
time to time, directed at Walter, to see
whether his demeanour attracted suspi-
cion, it was not surprising that he knew
but little of his lesson when the time
caine for his class to be called up. If his
performance on the previous day had
been bad, it was now ten times worse.
Never, since he had been at school, had
he appeared to such, disadvantage. He
lost place after place, until, from * being
nearly the head boy, he became the last
of the whole class; and even when his
mistakes were pointed out to him, he was
184 THE CHERRY-STONES.

so inattentive, that he continued to repeat
them. Dr. Young, at last, became ex-
tremely angry; and assured him, that it
was only on consideration of his previous
good conduct, and from the circumstance
of his indisposition in the morning, that
he did not withdraw the permission he
had granted him of celebrating his birth-
day with his friends. It was seldom that
Dr. Young spoke with such severity to
any boy; and he had never done so to
Mertoun, from the first day he had en-
tered the school. Already depressed by
what had occurred during the day, his
disgrace put the finishing stroke to Mer-
toun’s discomfort. He sat silent and
weary through the long and miserable
evening. School-time, supper-time, and
prayers, seemed protracted to twice their
usual length; and the short delay which
THE HAMPER FROM HOME. 185

ensued after prayers, before the boys went
up to bed, appéared an age to his excited
fancy. And when, at last, he laid his
head upon his comfortless pillow, it was
difficult to say, whether the recollection
of the day he had passed, or the antici-,
pation of the one that was to come, occa-_
sioned him the more painful reflections.

24
CHAPTER VIII.

THE EXAMINATION,

_—_——— -

“WELL, you may say what you please,”
said George Markland, when the first
class boys were assembled in the dining-
room on the following morning, awaiting
Dr. Young’s arrival before commencing
the examination; “you may say what
you please, but Harry Mertoun will have
the first class prize, both in classics and
in ciphering. What can afew bad marks
signify at the end of the half-year? He
has been regularly gaining on Warbeck
throughout the whole time; and, depend

186
Si Se eee

0
if

. oy
4
ni

‘

a

 

THE EXAMINATION. 187

upon it, he is now too far ahead to be
caught.”

“Well,” said West, in reply, “I doubt
whether Mertoun has gained so greatly
on Warbeck. If Harry is the quickest,
Charles is the surest; and though he
never gets many marks at a time, he
never fails to get one every lesson, and
Mertoun has often failed to do so. As
to ciphering, he was never much before
Sharpe; and I suspect they have changed
places within the last two days. Besides,
see how he has been doing his lessons for
the last two days; why, Dr. Young would
not give him the prize, if he were fifty
ahead.”

The conversation just’ detailed will give
our readers a fair idea of the feelings of
the boys, generally, towards the two prin-
cipal competitors for the first class prize
188 THE CHERRY-STONES.

in classics. There was always much in-
terest and speculation on the subject;
but, on the present occasion, the excite-
ment was unusually great. This partly
arose from the contrast which the char-
acters of the two boys presented. Both
of them were favourites with their school- .
fellows; Harry especially so; but if he
was the most loved, Charles was the most
generally respected; and it was a doubt-
ful point among them, whether Harry’s
quickness, or Warbeck’s steadiness, would
succeed. The interest was greatly en-
hanced by the extreme uncertainty of the
result, which the last few days had con-
siderably increased. No one, not even
Dr. Young himself, knew how the marks
really stood. Indeed, he made a point of
not adding them up, until the final ex-
amination was ended, lest he might find
 

THE EXAMINATION. 189

it’ more difficult to exercise strict impar-
tiality, if he knew that one or two addi-
tional marks might change the fortunes
of the day. When, therefore, the boys
took their places for examination, all eyes
were turned on Mertoun and his antago-
nist; while the feelings of the two boys
themselves were raised to the highest
pitch of anxiety.

“I shall examine you first,” said Dr,
Young, as soon as the boys were all ar-
ranged in order, “in Homer and Xeno-
phon; then in Cesar and Virgil; and
lastly, with Mr. Powell’s assistance, in
ciphering. The Greek, the Latin authors,
and the arithmetic, will each occupy about
an hour; so that by twelve o'clock the
whole will be concluded, I propose to
add up the marks this evening, and to-
morrow morning shall acquaint you with
190 THE CHERRY-STONES.

the result. Now we will begin at once.
Open your books at the hundred and
thirtieth line of the first Iliad. Charles
Warbeck, construe the first passage.”
The examination began, and Mertoun’s
attention was soon fully absorbed. He
had risen that morning, from his broken
and feverish sleep, unrefreshed, in mind
and body; and he had been during the
morning even more peevish and fretful
than on the previous day. To all the
congratulations and kind wishes of his
friends, on the return of his birth-day,
he had returned cold and ungracious an-
swers; and to any allusions to the ap-
proaching examinations, and predictions
of his probable success, he replied yet
more crossly, until, at last, his partisans
had dropped off, one by one, and had
left him to digest his ill-humour by him-
. THE EXAMINATION. 191

self The sense of his ungraciousness
contributed to increase his discomfort;
and when he opened his Homer, at the
beginning of the examination, it was with
a feeling of weariness and disgust, which
augured ill for his performance in it. It
was, perhaps, fortunate for him that his
blunders, on the preceding evening, had
brought him to the foot of his class; for,
had he been set on to construe, at the be-
ginning of the proceedings, he must have
made a complete failure. As, however,
question after question was asked, and
places began to be taken and _ lost, his
emulation was gradually roused. He soon
recovered his position above the boys at
the bottom of the.class; then above seve-
ral more; then above all, excepting
Charles Warbeck; and, lastly, above
Charles Warbeck himself. When it came
192 THE CHERRY-STONES.

to his turn to be set on, he appeared to
have recovered all his former. quickness
of apprehension and memory. He con-
strued with unusual correctness and spir-
it; and answered the questions that were
put to him with an intelligence and facil-
ity that he had never surpassed. He was,
in fact, like a high-spirited horse, who,
in the excitement of the race, loses all
recollection of the stiffness and weariness
which he felt at starting. Even Dr.
Young seemed struck with the boy’s un-
usual animation, and no one who heard
him could doubt what would be the re-
sult of the trial.

‘The examination in classics approached
its close. The Homer, Xenophon, and
Cesar, had been disposed of, and the
Virgil nearly construed through. “ You
have all been set on, I believe,” said Dr.
THE EXAMINATION. 193

Young, as he prepared to close the book;
“and, considering that the fourth book of
Virgil is more difficult than any of the
three former, you have acquitted your-
selves most creditably. Stay,” he added,
as he glanced down the row of marks,
“T see I have omitted to put on Henry
Mertoun. Turn, Harry, to the three hun-
dred and fifth line; read the passage
aloud, and then translate’ it.

Harry turned to the place indicated ;
but, to the surprise of his schoolfellows,
he had not proceeded far before his voice
faltered, and his whole manner suddenly
changed. It was one of the passages in
which Dido reproaches Aineas with the
fraud he was secretly practising against
her; and, as he read the ‘words, his con-
science applied them to himself. They
seemed as if written for the purpose of

25
194 THE CHERRY-STONES,

exposing to every one what was passing
in his own breast.

“Dissimulare* etiam sperdsti, perfide, tantum
Posse nefas, tacitusque mea decedere terra?
Nec te noster amor, néc te data dextera quondam,

Nec r

 

“Nec,” he repeated, trying hard to
subdue his agitation; but the words seem-
ed to stick in his throat; and, after seve-
ral vain attempts to proceed, he stopped
altogether.

“Well, Harry, what is the matter?”
said Dr.- Young, eyeing him as he spoke,

 

* “ Art thou, indeed, so perjured and so base?
And hopest thou yet to cover thy disgrace
And, with thy secret undivulged, depart
From these my realms, deceiver as thou art?
Hath nought availed thy stubborn heart to move
My proffered hand, my unrequited love ?”
THE EXAMINATION, 195

with much attention; “ perhaps you are
reading from a book with too small a
print, Some one lend him a larger one.
Ay, this will do,” he) continued, taking
one that was handed to him by a boy
standing near, and giving it to Harry;
“this has a larger type.”

Mertoun mechanically took the book
from his hand, and began turning over
the leaves. He struggled hard to regain
his self-command, for he was quite aware
that his embarrassment had a very strange
appearance. ‘‘ How can I be so foolish,”
said he to himself; “as if Dr. Young
could have chosen the passage on pur-
pose. If I do not mind what I am about,
all will be discovered.” Reasoning thus,
he nerved himself sufficiently to proceed
with tolerable composure; but, alas! he
had scarcely turned over another page,
196 THE CHERRY-STONES.

when he suddenly dropped the Virgil
from his hands, and turned deadly pale.
Shut in between. the leaves of the book,
at the place specified by the Doctor, he
had found—another cherry-stone! War-
beck caught him in his arms, or he would
have fallen on the floor. ‘‘ What is the
matter, Harry ?”—‘ Are you ill?” broke
from a dozen pair of lips at once.
“Stand clear of him, all of you,” said
Dr. Young, seeing that the boy was suf-
ficiently recovered to support himself.
“Now, Mertoun, tell me what was the
matter with you?” Harry hesitated.
“Speak out; if there is anything con-
cealed, which I ought to know, do not
make it worse by further concealment.
Remember what I told you yesterday.”
Harry was still silent.' Deceitful as his
conduct had been during the last two
THE EXAMINATION, 197

days, he could not bring himself to tell a
downright falsehood. Dr, Young, calmly
and patiently, awaited his answer; and
the boys, not knowing what to make of
this extraordinary scene, also remained
perfectly silent, looking from one to an-
other, with faces of the utmost astonish-
ment. ;

“J—I do not feel very well,” at last,
stammered Harry; “will you allow me,
Sir, to go to my room, and lie down; I
will answer any questions when this faint-
ness is gone off; but I am too ill to do
so now.”

‘You are, indeed, unwell, I am afraid,”
replied the Doctor, as he looked at his
pale cheeks and trembling figure; “go
up to bed at once. I will send for
Mr. Millar; and, in the course of the
afternoon, will come and see you myself,
198 * THE CHERRY-STONES.

You will not, of course, be able to have
your birth-day party this afternoon ; but
the boys whom you have asked shall
have their treat notwithstanding; and
Walter will, I dare say, do his best to
supply your place.” Harry bowed in ac
quiescence to this arrangement, and left
the room.

He had indeed spoken no more than
the truth, when he said that he was un-
well. The anxiety of the last few days,
and the unusual excitement of the exam-
ination, had brought on a violent nervous
headache; and the Doctor, on his arrival,
found it necessary to give him some power-
ful remedies. He then fell into a gentle
doze, which lasted some hours, and awoke
about four o’clock, a good deal refreshed.
But though his bodily ailments were almost
gone, his mind continued to be as much
THE EXAMINATION, 199

tormented as ever by painful recollections,
He endeavoured to banish them by every
means in his power. He counted the
spots on the pattern of the curtains, and
tried to reckon up how many the whole
bed furniture contained. He repeated -
aloud verses and speeches which he had
learned by rote; and, lastly, he tried to
occupy his mind by devising schemes of
amusement during the approaching holi-
days. All, however, was in vain. The
subject he wished to banish returned to
him continually; until, at last, he relin-
quished all attempts to resist it, and suf-
fered his thoughts to flow in the channel
they had chosen for themselves. He re-
called all the troubles in which his guilty
act, and his obstinate concealment of it,
had involved him. “What misery would
it have spared me,” said he to himself,
200 THE CHERRY-STONES.

“if I had confessed what I had done
when' Dr. Young first questioned me on
the subject. How easy would it have
been to have done it then; and why did
I again refuse yesterday, when he spoke
so kindly to me, and warned me of the
wickedness of withholding the truth?
And what have I gained by it? I was
afraid I should not be allowed to keep
my birth-day; and a pleasant birth-day
I am enjoying! And I was afraid of
losing my prize; and much chance have
lof getting one now! And what should
I care for a prize, if I did get one? No
one wishes me success; I have offended
the whole school by my ill-temper; and
I would rather lose a dozen prizes than
quarrel with Charles and Seymour, and
the other boys. But I cannot go on m
this miserable way any longer. I will
THE EXAMINATION. 201

tell the Doctor everything, and beg him
to forgive me. I wish he were here
now.”

His reflections were interrupted by a
low tap at the door. Mertoun started.
It is curious how chagrined we frequently
are, when a wish we have been entertain-
ing for some time, without much prospect
of attaining it, is suddenly granted. Our
hero’s desire to see Dr. Young vanished
with the rap at the door; and his relief
was great when little Walter entered.

“Well, Harry,” said the child, “how
are you now? Mrs. Young has given
me leave to come and sit-with you until
you are tired of me. I am so sorry you
are ill, brother ;” and he threw his arms
round Mertoun’s neck as he spoke.

“Thank you, Walter, I am better al-
ready,” replied Harry; “and, I dare say,

26
202 THE CHERRY-STONES.

by to-morrow I shall be quite well
again.”

“Oh yes! you must be quite well by
to-morrow, brother. There will be such
fun to-morrow. ‘The carriage will come |
for us, and the prizes will be given away;
and you will be sure to have the very
best. Itis only because they are envious
of you, that they say you will not get
a prize,” added Walter, nodding his head
very knowingly. “Is it not so, Harry ?”

Mertoun made no reply; and Walter,
somewhat downcast at finding that his
brother did not enter into his raptures,
also relapsed into silence. Nothing was
said for several minutes on either side.
At last Walter again broke silence.
“Brother Harry,” said he, ‘is it not very
naughty to say one is ill, when one is
not? Is it not telling stories?”
THE EXAMINATION. 2038

“To be sure it is, Walter,” replied
Mertoun, a little startled at the abrupt-
ness of the question,

“Do not people deserve to be pun-
ished very badly for telling stories, broth-
er?” pursued the child, halftalking to
himself.

“No doubt they do,” said Harry, un-
easily ; “but what makes you ask that?”

“I was thinking,” said Walter, “what
would be done to Edward Sharpe for
telling stories.”

“Edward Sharpe!” ejaculated Mertoun;
“has he been telling stories ?”

Walter nodded.

“What about, Walter?”

“Why, he said that once upon a time,
Some one pretended to be ill, in order
that it might not be found out that he
could not do his ciphering,” replied Wal-
6.204 THE CHERRY-STONES.

ter; believing, in the simplicity of his
heart, that he had cleverly concealed from
his brother that it was himself of whom
Sharpe had been speaking. “I do not
like Edward Sharpe, Harry; I did not
want to give him any cake; but Charles
Warbeck told me I ought to give him
some, because he was in the first class;
and I had given some to all the other
first class boys.”

‘‘So,” said Mertoun to himself, as he
tossed restlessly in his bed, “ Edward
Sharpe has been insinuating that I pre-
tended to be ill, for fear he should beat
me in the ciphering examination! I de-
clare I never heard of anything so mean.
I would not be so mean as he is for all
the prizes in the world!” In this strain
Harry proceeded, forgetting, in the pleni-
tude of his indignation, the bitter self-ac-
THE EXAMINATION. 205

cusations to which he had given vent not
ten minutes before, But it is wonderful
how keen a sense of injury we feel, when
we are chargéd unjustly with any offence ;
even when we know, ourselves to be
guilty of something quite as bad, and,
perhaps, not very unlike it,

The longer he continued to reflect on
his rival’s ungenerous conduct, the greater
his excitement became; and the cipher-
Ing prize, so valueless before, became now
an object of eager desire; not that he
particularly wished for it himself ; but he
was anxious to prevent Sharpe’s obtaining
itt “TI dare say he is hoping he will
have it now,” thought he, “since I was
Prevented from getting any marks at the
examination, And, perhaps, he may;
but, at all events, I will not do anything
that will help to give it him. I cannot
206 THE CHERRY-STONES,

be obliged to confess my fault, in order
that he may reap the fruits of my con-
fession. If I do not deserve the prize, I
am sure he does not. It was he who
first prompted me to take the cherries; I
should not have thought of it but for
him.”

As these thoughts passed through his
mind his restlessness increased. His de-
termination to stand between Sharpe and
the ciphering prize, of course put an end
to his resolution of confessing his fault to
Dr. Young; and he now dreaded the im-
pending visit, which a short time before
he had so eagerly desired. At last he
sent Walter to Dr. Young, to tell him
that he trusted he would excuse the free-
dom he was taking; but that he con-
tinued too unwell to be able to see him
that afternoon; and that he hoped, if he
THE EXAMINATION. ' SF

was left quite alone, he should be able to
procure a little sleep. It was not without
difficulty that he brought himself to take
this step; for he felt that he had now
been guilty of a direct falsehood. But the
downward path of deceit is a short and
easy one, and we are seldom long in
reaching the bottom, when once we en-
ter it.

His resolution, however, was taken;
and being taken, he endeavoured, as
well as he could, to persuade himself that
he was doing nothing wrong in withhold-
ing his avowal of his guilt from Dr.
Young. It was not a school offence, he
argued, that he had committed. It was
not an offence against Dr. Young. It
was not an offence in which Dr. Young
was in any way concerned. He did not

see, therefore, what Dr. Young had to do
208 THE CHERRY-STONES.

with it. Besides, he doubted whether he
was not vexing himself a great deal about
a very trifling matter; and, at any rate,
his father was the only person to whom
he was bound to make any confession.
_ Such were the specious arguments by
which Mertoun endeavoured to satisfy
himself that he was justified in continu-
ing silent on the subject of the offence
which he had committed. He felt, in-
deed, in his heart, that his reasoning was
false and hollow; but he was resolved
not to take the only course which his
conscience approved. He was not yet
sufficiently habituated to guilt to be able
to stifle its remonstrances altogether ; and
he therefore endeavoured to re-assure him-
self by specious reasonings, which, in
truth, only increased his difficulties.

If any of my youthful readers are
THE EXAMINATION. 209

ever thus tempted to seek for fair-seem-
ing arguments to justify their neglect of |
some painful duty, or pursuit of some
unholy wish, let them be warned how
they yield to these insidious whisperings
of the Tempter. If they endeavour thus
to darken their vision, whenever it is
painful to them to see the light, who
can say that the dullness of sight, which
they thus wilfully occasion, may not be-
come lasting? Who can say how soon
the time may come when they will be in-
deed unable to distinguish between the
counterfeit and the reality; and sigh, in
vain, for that clearness of sight which
they once possessed; which their own
wantonness has-destroyed, and destroyed
for ever?

27
CHAPTER IX.

THE MYSTERY SOLVED.

‘‘Midsummer holidays now draw near,
Let your hearts be free from fear ;
Let your hearts be merry and gay,
For to-day is breaking-up day.

Monday, Tuesday, packing-up ;
Wednesday, Thursday, breaking-up ;
Friday, Saturday, going away :
All for the sake of a holiday.

‘*‘ Good-bye, Latin; good-bye, Greek ;
No more of you for many a week.
Books and slates we'll cast away,
For to-day is breaking-up day.

ee
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. Q11

Monday, Tuesday, packing-up ;
Wednesday, Thursday, breaking-up ;
Friday, Saturday, going away :

All for the sake of a holiday.”

SucH were the sounds that broke -Hen-
ry Mertoun’s slumbers on the morning
succeeding the events related in the last
chapter. Mertoun sat up in his bed, and
looked vacantly about him, All the boys
were gone down stairs, and their trunks
were packed and corded. The clock
struck ten. ‘Bless me!” exclaimed he,
“how sound I must have slept! The
boys had not come up to bed when I fell
asleep.” In fact, the anxiety by day, and
the sleeplessness by night, which the boy
had undergone, together with a slight
Opiate, which Mr. Millar had given him
in his medicine, had caused him to sleep
through the noise which his schoolfellows

/

 
212 THE CHERRY-STONES.

had made, in getting up and packing.
their boxes; and he would, probably, have
slumbered on for some hours longer, had
not the chorus immediately under his
window, with which the boys were cele-
brating their approaching departure, dis-
turbed him. But the noise of five-and-
thirty treble voices, maintaining the most
noble independence of time and tune,
would have been too much for a narcotic
far more powerful than the one which
had been administered to Harry. His
drowsiness vanished in an instant, as the
well-known sounds of the breaking-up
song saluted his ears. He bounded out
of bed, and, flinging open the window,
‘joined most energetically in the last lines
of the chorus, concluding with three hear-
ty cheers, which afforded the most sat-
isfactory evidence that, whatever his ill-
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 213

ness might have been, he was again him-
self His appearance was greeted with
universal applause. Boys never remem-
ber a grudge for any length of time;
besides which, the last day of a half-year ~
is always an occasion for a general am-
nesty, “ Harry for ever!” “Good morn-
ing, Harry!” “How do you find your-
self this morning?” resounded from all
parts of the playground.

“Good morning! good morning!” shout-
ed Harry, in reply; “I am all right
again, thank you.”

“Mr. Millar gave orders that you were
not to be disturbed,” said Warbeck, ‘so
we got up, and packed our boxes as quiet
as mice, and—” |

“Now come and roar like bulls under
my window,” said Harry, laughing; “ well,
never mind; I am glad ehough to be

 
214 THE CHERRY-STONES.

awake ; and it will not be long before I
am with you.”

“Make haste,” said Seymour; ‘and
we will not begin our game until you
come. We have an hour and a half good,
before the prizes are given away.” Harry
hastily withdrew his head from the win-
dow as he heard these words. The joyful
excitement of going home, and the gene-
ral delight of his schoolfellows, had, for
the instant, banished the remembrance
that he had another scene to go through
with before he quitted Charlton; but it
was now recalled. Oh, that those prizes
were given away, and done with! If he.
were only quietly at home with his father
and mother, how gladly would he forego
all his chances of success. But the wish
was useless. Go through the ordeal he
must; and he endeavoured to nerve him-
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 215

self to meet this last trial boldly. Once
clear of Charlton, all would go well.

It will be easily believed that he had
now no inclination to join his schoolfel-
lows in the playground. He dreaded
their allusions to his chance of getting a
prize, and their inquiries as to the cause
of his strange embarrassment while con-
struing the Virgil. He lingered over his
toilet, and then over his packing; but
the minutes dragged wearily on. The
merry voices of the boys, who, after one
or two impatient summonings, had begun
their sport without him, and had soon for-
gotten his absence, struck painfully on
his ear. He arranged and re-arranged
his clothes; fidgeted about the room;
and, at last, took up a book, and, seating
himself on his bed, set himself deter-
minedly to read it. Nearly two hours
216 THE CHERRY-STONES.

passed in this manner; his suspense’ was
becoming insupportable; and he had re-
solved, in despair, to go down into the
playground; when there came a sudden
lull in the noise below, and, with a tap
at his door, the well-known voice of Sally
announced, “The boys are all in the
school-room, Master Mertoun; and Mas-
ter has sent me to fetch you.” Mertoun
shook from head to foot. He even medi-
tated sending a, message, to say that he
was too unwell to come down; but he
remembered that this would certainly
bring Dr. Young.

“T am coming!” he exclaimed; and,
putting the key of his box into his
pocket, he ran quickly down.

The school-room was filled with a crowd
of anxious faces as he entered. In front
of the head master’s desk, which stood
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. Q17

on a raised platform against the wall, was
placed a table covered with a green cloth,
on which were arranged, in goodly show,
the prizes about to be distributed. The
Doctor was already in his place; the
ushers were seated on either side of him ;
and the boys stood in a deep semicircle
in front. All eyes were turned on Mer-
toun, as he entered,

“Good morning to you, Mertoun,” said
Dr. Young; “take your place. I sent
for you because I wished that all the
boys should be assembled, before I an-
nounced to whom the prizes were award-
ed.” Harry muttered a few unintelligible
words, and shrank into a corner, as far
removed from public notice as possible.

Dr. Young rose from his chair. “The
pnize for good behaviour,” said he, “among
the lower boys, is gained by Walter Mer-

28

SE
218 TIE CHERRY-STONES.

toun; who, although this is his first half-
year, has been uniformly orderly and
diligent, and has conducted himself to
my entire satisfaction.”

Little Walter’s face crimsoned with de-
light and surprise. He get a prize! A
little boy ‘like him get a prize! How
amazed he would have been, if any body
had told him half an hour before that
such a thing was possible. Many hands
were thrust out to congratulate him ; for
his simplicity and good temper had made
him a general favourite ; but, to Wal-
ter's great disappomtment, his brother did
not join in the general expression of
sympathy. “Are you not glad, brother
Harry, that I have got a prize?” said he,
timidly looking up into his brother’s face.
Mertoun started. His own fears and dis-
quietudes had so entirely engrossed his
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 219

attention, that his little brother’s success
had been scarcely noticed by him. He
was, however, immediately sensible of his
neglect.

“Yes, Walter,” he said, taking his
hand, “I am, indeed, very glad. You
have well deserved it; and I am sure both
papa. and mamma will be greatly pleased
with you.” And then, patting him on
the head, he turned again, with irrepres-
sible anxiety, to listen to the forthcoming
announcements. Walter felt chilled and
repelled. Harry’s manner was constrain-
ed; and he did not seem, in his heart,
really to care much about his brother's
success. The little boy was almost ready
to cry; and his joy at getting the prize
was, for the moment, more than balanced
by the pain he felt at his brother’s cold-
ness. How much misery do our evil acts
220 THE CHERRY-STONES.

occasion to others as well as to ourselves!

While the above conversation was pass-
ing between the brothers, the names of
the successful competitors in the fourth,
third, and second classes, had been an-
nounced. There now remained only the
first class prizes in classics and ciphering
to be declared. Dr. Young made a mo-
mentary pause; excitement was raised to
its highest pitch. ‘The contest,” at length,
he said, “for the prizes in the first class
has been unusually severe, and the issue
doubtful to the last. When I began to
add up the marks yesterday evening, I ©
was quite uncertain what would be the
result ; and, perhaps, it may surprise you,
as it certainly did me. In classics, the
names and numbers of the three first
boys are—
THK MYSTERY SOLVED. 221

Mertoun,. . . | wile. yh ah SE
a ee
ON Woks eee SR

and in ciphering ;
es 5 #4
Ps gi ae
Wi. <> » 3...

Mertoun, therefore, is the successful can-
didate for both the: first class prizes. I
should observe, that he was much more
in advance of both his competitors, until
within the last few days; but he has, not-
withstanding, fairly won his high posi-
tion; and his diligence and general good
conduct has been such, as to make me
rejoice sincerely at his success, You
know, however, it is not my practice to
allow one boy to receive two prizes; and
the question now is, with reference to the
222 THE CHERRY-STONES.

claims of Warbeck and Sharpe, which
prize I ought to assign to Mertoun. Con-
sidering, however, that Warbeck approach-
es him so nearly in the one, and Sharpe
in the other department; and that both
of them are so far in advance of all other
competitors, I think their claims to a re-
ward are equal. I intend, therefore, to
give prizes of less value to Warbeck and
Sharpe, while I intend Mertoun to receive
one which will commemorate his double
victory in classics and ciphering.”

As Dr. Young concluded, there was a
general murmur of applause; and the
successful candidates were instantly sur-
rounded by a group of applauding friends.
Harry, in particular, was the centre of
general admiration. Congratulations pour-
ed in on every side. ‘Harry, I wish
you joy most sincerely,” said Warbeck, |
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 223 .

stepping up to him, and shaking him
warmly by the hand; “you have well
deserved the prize, and I am heartily
glad you have gained it,” Harry tried
to acknowledge his kindness with equal
cordiality ; but his voice failed him, and
he was obliged to lean for support upon
the desk behind him.

How bitter now were his self-reproach-
es! It is true that by a few marks he
had headed both his competitors; but he
knew that by his conduct he had forfeited
all claim to distinction ; and that the first
prizes, in truth, belonged to Warbeck and
Sharpe. He was now about to cheat his
best friend of the one, and had yesterday
descended to the meanness of a deliberate
falsehood, that he might injure his com-
petitor for the other. Dr. Young also
had spoken of his general good conduct;
224 THE CHERRY-STONES.

and he was going to receive a token of
his highest approval, when he knew he
merited nothing but disgrace.

As these thoughts whirled through his
head, he was startled by the mention of
his brother’s name. “Walter Mertoun,”
said the Doctor, “come and take your
prize.” Walter obeyed, and received a
nicely-bound copy of Alsop’s Fables, to-
gether with a few kind and approving
words, which brought tears into the little
fellow’s eyes. Harry watched the flush
of mingled modesty and pleasure with
which he listened to, Dr. Young; and his
eager delight, as he turned over the leaves
of his newly-acquired treasure. What a
bitter contrast to his own feelings! It
was the first time he had ever felt the
difference between guilt and innocence ;
and learned what a hollow mockery is
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 225

worldly success, when our hearts con-
demn us. But there was not time to
dwell on thoughts like these. He looked
on, as boy after boy was called up to
receive his prize, with the feelings of a
criminal, who sees his companions brought
up in succession to receive their punish-
ment, knowing that his own turn will
shortly arrive.

Warbeck was now called for; and, as
he came forward, Dr. Young having put
into his hand an octayo volume, thus
addressed him: “Charles Warbeck, I
have much pleasure in presenting you
with the life of Bishop Ken. It is the
history of a good man; of one who,
though exposed to many trials and tempt-
ations, at every turn of his life, was faith-
ful to his conscience, I trust you may
have grace to follow such an example ;

29
226 THE CHERRY-STONES.

and I have good hope, Warbeck, that
you will do so, I have observed your
habitual diligence, and your straightfor-
ward, honest behaviour with sincere pleas-
ure. Indeed, were it otherwise, you well
know I would bestow no reward upon
you. ‘T'ruthfulness and honesty are in-
dispensable qualities in any one who is to
receive a token of approbation from me.”
Charles bowed respectfully, and withdrew
from the table.

“Henry Mertoun,” said the Doctor;
and at the summons Harry advanced, with
unsteady steps, from amongst the crowd
of boys. Every word of his master’s
address to Warbeck had penetrated him
with shame and remorse. The lie he was
about to act, glared on him in all its de-
formity. Wavering, and uncertain what
to do, he moved slowly towards the table.
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 227

He endeavoured to look up to the Doc
tor’s face; but he could not meet his
calm, steadfast gaze. Confused and abash-
ed, he cast his eyes downward ; but, as
he did so, they encountered an object
which made him start, as though a ser-
pent had stung him. In the middle of
the table, on the spot from which Charles
Warbeck’s prize had just been removed,
there lay—could he really believe his
senses?—the seventh cherry-stone! — He
stood for a moment amazed and silent—
then, with the air of one whose resolution
was at last made up, he took the cherry-
stone in his hand, and, walking with a
firm step to Dr. Young, exclaimed, in a
low, but distinct tone, “Dr, Young, you
Must not give me the prize you intended
for me, I have done that which make’
me unworthy of your esteem, This,” he
228 THE CHERRY-STONES.

added, laying the cherry-stone on the
table before him, “ this is all that I de-
serve. 1 must not receive anything else
from you.”

A murmur of astonishment ran through
the room, followed by a profound silence.
Dr. Young himself partook of the sur-
prise, but he did not lose his composure,
“Farry,” he said, “you know I have
told you, that if you have done anything
wrong, it is your duty to confess it.” “I
will, Sir,” cried the boy; and then, lean-
ing against the table for support, n/a
voice almost choked by emotion, he related
the whole history of his guilt, from his
first getting over the wall to fetch the
lost cricket-ball, to his falsehood on the
previous afternoon, in sending a message
to tell Dr. Young that he was too Wr
well to see him. He omitted no circum:
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Page 228.
 
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 229

stance, and attempted no extenuation.
He seemed like a person who was ridding
himself of a heavy burden, and who was
desirous not to leave the slightest portion
remaining to cause him further distress.
The boys listened with breathless interest
to his confession; and, as he concluded,
all bent eagerly forward to hear what the
Doctor would say.

Before, however, he had time to speak,
there was a sudden stir among the boys,
and Frederick Seymour, stepping forward,
took Mertoun by the hand.

“Oh, Harry! pray forgive me,” said
he; ‘I little thought how unhappy I was
making you.”

“Am I to understand then, Seymour,”
said Dr. Young, with some severity,
“that it is you who have occasioned your
schoolfellow all the annoyance he _ has
280 THE CHERRY-STONES.

been speaking of? His fault was indeed
great, but it gave you no right thus to
torment him.”

“JT am sorry, Sir; very sorry, for what
I have done. I have acted wrongly ; but
I had no intention of causing Harry so
much sorrow. If you will permit me,
Sir, I will tell you the whole truth. On
the morning spoken of by Harry, I was
awoke by a noise on the back staircase,
as if some one was going cautiously down
stairs; and some minutes afterwards |
heard Juno barking in the playground. I
then began to think something must be the
matter; and, at last, I got up, and went
to the passage window, which looks out
sn that direction. The light of the moon
was so clear that I could see distinctly
what was going on below; and I per-
ceived Harry, whose back was towards
 

THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 231

me, engaged in burying something in a
corner of the playground. Soon after-
wards he took something else from his
pocket, put it on the top of the buttress,
and then returned into the house. My
curiosity was raised; andy as soon as
everything was quiet, I went into the
playground. I looked first on the but-
tress, and there perceived the marble. I
then searched in the corner, and, to my
surprise, found seven cherry-stones. The
thought that Harry had got over the wall,
and taken the cherries, never occurred to
me. Indeed, I did not recollect at the time
that there was a cherry-tree in the orchard.
At first I thought Harry had been buying
fruit without leave, which you know, Si,
is strictly forbidden; but then I could not
understand about the marble, or why he
should get up in the night, and bury.
232 THE CHERRY-STONES.

seven cherry-stones. I was a good deal
puzzled; but, at last, it occurred to me
that Harry had done all this in order to
play some trick upon us at the break-
ing-up; and that it would be good fun
to turn the joke against himself; and,
with that intention, I placed a cherry-
stone on the buttress, and when Harry
was asleep put the alley into his jacket
pocket, and one of the stones into his
shoe.”

“Go on, Seymour,” said Dr. Young, as
the boy paused in his narrative; ‘‘there
is yet much to be explained. Did you
put the other cherry-stones into his way
also ?”

“Some of them, Sir, I did. I had no
intention of doing so at first; but Har-
ry’s perplexity, when he found the one
on the wall and the other in his shoe,
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 233

amused me, I am ashamed to say, so
much, that I contrived, during the day,
to put a third into his bed; and the next
morning I dropped another into the tea-
cup when Warbeck left it for a few min-
utes in the hall. I had no intention of
teasing him any further; but I happened
to be present when he unpacked his
hamper, and I thought he would be so
perplexed to find another of the stones
in his present from home, that I was
tempted, whilst he was putting the differ-
. ent packages into his box, to make up
the fifth of them into a small parcel, and
changed it for the one directed to him,
which he had overlooked. The real en-
closure I’ put into his desk behind some
books, where he will find it. This is all
that I have done; and, indeed, Sir, I
should not have done what I did if I
30
234 THE CHERRY-STONES.

had known how much pain I was caus
ing.” |

«Well, Seymour,” said the Doctor, m
a milder tone, “you are not so much to
blame as I had supposed. J am no ad-
mirer of practical jokes. They are always
unkind, and often do serious mischief.
But whilst I do not approve of what you
have done, I must, in justice, say you
are not answerable for the pain and mis-
ery which has fallen upon Henry Mer-
toun. He owes all that he has suffered
to his own misconduct. Had his con-
science been void of offence, your jokes
might have perplexed and teased him,
but they would have caused him no real
pain. It was the sense of guilt, and the
disquietude which guilt always produces,
which created all the idle alarms which
caused him to bury the cherry-stones, and
THE MYSTERY SOLVED?) 235

which gave the real sting to your foolish
jests. Forget, therefore, both of you, all
that is passed. Shake hands, and be
friends.”

Mertoun turned round, with a smile
once more on his face: ‘“‘Oh, most read-
ily, Seymour. I am sure you did not
mean to pain me.”

Dr. Young looked at them with evident
satisfaction ; then, after a pause, he added,
“But there is still much to be explained.
If I understood you rightly, Seymour,
you only put five cherry-stones in Mer-
toun’s way, and had nothing to do with
the placing of the other two?”

“It is so, Sir. I know nothing of the
two last,” replied Seymour. |

“Then I must discover who put the
sixth cherry-stone in the Virgil yester-
day, and the seventh on my table this
236 THE CHERRY-STONES.

morning. Their appearance could not
have been accidental ; and the motives of
the party must, I fear, have been very
unworthy.” A deep silence prevailed.
“ Seymour, did you communicate to any
one the tricks you were practising upon
Mertoun?”

“Not at first, Sir; but one of the boys
saw me change the parcels in the ham-
per; and made me tell him all about it.”

“Did you tell him, also, that you did
not mean to carry the joke any further,
because you found how unhappy you had
made your schoolfellow ?”

“J did, Sit; and, at the same time,
flung away the other two cherry-stones.”

« And who was the boy to whom you
told this?” ,

Seymour hesitated. ‘‘ I hope, Sir, you
will not oblige me to answer you.
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 237

would much rather take the whole blame
on myself.”

“Well, Seymour, I will not press you
on the point, if you are unwilling to
give me the information. There is, how-
ever, no reason why I should not try to
find out the truth myself. Edward Sharpe,
stand forward |”

Sharpe obeyed. He endeavoured to as-
sume an appearance of surprise; but it sat
awkwardly upon him; and it was evident
to the whole school that he was ill at ease.

‘“‘T wish to ask you, Sharpe, if the two
cherry-stones were placed in the Virgil
and on my table by you?”

Sharpe remained silent for a few mo-
ments, At last, he said, “I do not see,
Sir, what reason you have for suspecting
me more than any one else.”

“Twill tell you, Sharpe. It is but fair
238 THE CHERRY-STONES.

that I should give you my reason for se-
lecting you from the other boys, and
putting this question to you. I noticed
that it was you who, at the examination
yesterday, handed me the Virgil in which ~
the cherry-stone was found; and, although
++ does not follow that you put the stone
into the book, it is a sufficient reason for
singling you out for inquiry. Moreover,
Sally has told me that she found one of
the pupils in the school-room, contrary
to my express orders, when she went in,
shortly before the examination began, to
see if the arrangements for giving out the
prizes were complete. I do not wish,
except it, be absolutely necessary, to make
Seymour a witness against his schoolfel-
low; but I shall certainly send for Sally,
if I do not receive from you an imme-
diate and direct answer.”
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 239

“ Yes, then, I did do it,” replied Sharpe,
sullenly; “but I meant no harm—no
more than Seymour did. I did not
know, any more than he did, that Mer-
toun had stolen the cherries.”

‘Edward Sharpe,” replied the Doctor,
in his severest tone, “I cannot accept
your excuse. You have acted in a most
unworthy manner. You knew that your
schoolfellow was made unhappy by these
tricks; yet you continued to practise
them upon him. But this is the lightest
part of your offence. Mertoun and your-
self, as you are well aware, were running
very close for the ciphering prize. To
do anything which would agitate and
embarrass him, under such circumstances,
was unfair, if not actually dishonest; and
yet you chose the moment when he was
faltering in his examination, to overwhelm
240 THE CHERRY-STONES.

him entirely by an unworthy artifice. At
any rate, a generous boy would have
confessed what he had done, when he
saw the effect it had produced on his an-
tagonist. Above all, to repeat the annoy-
ance this morning, before the assembled
school, and on such an occasion, was most
unfeeling. I do not seek to inquire fur-
ther into your motives; but, after what
has transpired, I cannot give you your
prize. It has always been my principle
to refuse any reward to a boy who has
been guilty of a serious offence ; and in no
other light can I view your late conduct.
Retire, now, to your own room, and remain
‘by yourself until you return home. I trust
your sol'tude will be rightly employed.” |

Sharpe turned sullenly away, and left
the room. The doctor seemed relieved
when he was gone,
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 241

“And now, Harry,” he said, with more
emotion than was usual with him, “I
must say a few words to you. You have,
indeed, done very wrong; and I must
withhold from you the prize, which by
your talents, you had won. It would be
most mistaken kindness to speak lightly
of your sin. I trust, the unhappiness you
have undergone during the last few days,
and the shame you are now suffering,
will have their due effect in warning you
how you again yield to temptation. You
have now confessed your fault, tardily,
indeed—I wish it had been otherwise—
but you have confessed it, and you have
my entire forgiveness. But, remember,
there is One whose displeasure outweighs
all others a thousand-fold; whose pardon
you must yet implore; but who never
refuses it to those who seek it with true.

$1
242 THE CHERRY-STONES.

penitence. Let me entreat you to ask it
humbly, on your knees, before you leave
this house, and in His name for whose
sake it is never denied.”

“One word more before I quit this sub-
ject, never to return to it. In the present —
instance the thoughtlessness of one of your
companions, and the unkindness of an-
other, have had the effect of rousing you
to a sense of your guilt, and of leading you
to repentance. God has thus been pleased
to bring good out of evil. But im your
future life, should you again fall into
sin, He may not, and, probably, will not,
vouchsafe you such visible means. of
awakening your conscience. Beware, then,
of yielding to petty temptations, of vio-
lating small duties, under the idea that
it signifies little whether you perform
them or not. Remember how far wrong
THE MYSTERY SOLVED. 243

a trifling act of disobedience has led you,
and how difficult you have found it to
return to the right path again. Remem-
ber, also, that a slight deviation from that
one right path, will, if persisted in, lead
you as far from the true end of your
journey, as though you had never trod-
den in the right path at all.”

THE END.
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* cd + 7

 

“Not long ago, as we lay on a sick bed,

the ‘ Shadow of the Cross’ was read to us; and we thought,

at the time, that there could be nothing more beautiful or

more affecting. This impression has never since been ef

faced ; and we, regard these allegories as worthy of a place

in every family, and every Sunday-School Library.” * * *
[ Young Churchman’s Miscellany.

“ Written in simple, earnest language, free from affectation,
or attempt at fine writing ; they also possess much narrative
interest, and no small degree of descriptive power. Such
qualities render it an eligible work to put into the hands of
children. The wood engravings are unusually well executed,
from the elegant designs of Chapman; they are charming
specimens of the art. The paper, print and binding, are all
of good quality ; and show that good taste and good judg-
meat have presided over the mechanical as well as the intel
lectual department.” (2) _Literary World,
BEAUTIFUL JUVENILE BOOKS. :

 

tv THE REV. WILLIAM ADAMS:

 

WITH BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS.
From Designs by Chapman.

(3)
BEAUTIFUL JUVENILE BOOKS.

 

Ghe Histont Bills.

‘We have before us a little work entitled, ‘The Distant
Hills; An Allegory,’ from the press of the General Protest-
ant Episcopal Sunday-School Union, whose Depository is at
Number 20 John-street. It is a most touching and tender
allegory, and is altogether worthy of its predecessor, ‘ The
Shadow of the Cross.’ Over the pages of these narratives
there is shed an aroma of purity, suited to-the pictures’ which
they so exquisitely paint. Indeed, the pictures themselves
seem to be rather breathed than painted. We know not how
to express our sincere admiration, as we believe it would be
impossible to meet with works of this kind more charmingly
conceived and finished. They ought to be widely circulated
among the young, in whose pure hearts they would be en-
graved indelibly in days when the feverish novel would in-
terest them no more. As allegories they possess the highest
merit. The outlines are distinct, the accessories replete with
classic grace, and the embodiment of the truth palpable.
The Distant Hills, bedecked with green and rife with
melody; the Crumbling Ruin, crawled over by the green
lizard, and given to decay; these are symbols which a child’s
heart may interpret, and over which a man’s eyes may weep.
And it is delightful to see ever in the foreground of the pic-
tures, whether meandering in the meadow or gushing from
the rock, the purifying waters of the flood, over which

——~‘ The eternal dove
Hovers on softest wing.’

“ For the Christian parent, these works, so pure and happy
in influence, so exquisite in embellishment, so compressed in
compass, are most desirable for gifts. They would be re-
ceived with smiles, and perused with tears, and gratitude
would be returned by the intermingling of both.”

[ Knickerbocker, Oct., 1849
4
BEAUTIFUL JUVENILE BOOKS.

Man's Lome

Old

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(6)

OUith Beautiful Bngradt
BEAUTIFUL JUVENILE BOOKS.

 

Ghe Old Alan's Bome.

“This is a narrative of an ‘Old Man’ of ninety-six years,
whom the writer first meets in a romantic dell, on the coast
of the Isle of Wight, and in whose mind the one all-engross-
ing thought, which took complete possession of every feeling
and sympathy of his nature, was that of his final Home.
His residence in the asylum for half a century, his literal in-
terpretation of the precepts and promises of God’s Holy
Word, his reputed insanity, his allegorical conversation, his
attachment to ‘little Annie,’ his past history and bereave-
ments, his death, and his resting-place in the church-yard,
are incidents which the gifted author has woven into a story
told with great simplicity and effect. The illustrations of the
engraver are as tastefully executed as the designs (which are
original with the Union) are happily conceived. We are
not surprised at the popularity of Mr. Adams’ books.”

[Church Review.

Po * eee If it is not true, there is an air of truth
about it which is unequalled except by De Foe. But whether
truth or fiction, it.is one of the most instructive little books
we know of; and one, to the tendencies of which we can —
give the most unreserved recommendation.”

[ T'rue Catholic.

‘‘¢ The Old Man’s Home’ is by the author of ‘ The Shadow
of the Cross,’ and may well take place by its side as a com-
panion volume. The title plainly indicates the subject.
Devoid of the slightest approach to rant or turgidity, the
touching and simple story is told with much purity and grace
of style; and the interest which is early excited, is sustained,
without flagging, to the very last page. Let a book like this
~ be put into the hands of a child, and we have no fear of the
result,” [Literary World.

(7)
IFUL JUVENILE BOOKS.

ne

BEAUT

 

 

Gye Hing’s Messengers.

 

_ BY THE REV. WILLIAM ADAMS

 

WITH BEAUTIFUL ENGRAVINGS,
From Designs by Geir.
(9)

 
 
 

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—_+—— ; 5
Pabage No. 14, price ou: cents, .

1, The Holiday Week; and, The Bird’s Nest. .

2. The Little Girl who could not hold her Phe

and, The Folly of Wishes. é

3. The Happy Cottagers; and, May Day. :

4. The Wreck; and, Conscience. s
5. The Happiest Day of the Week; and, Liney Goodwin. | i
6. Joe Collins ae

7. Look not on Temptation. so -
ap The Crutch. —
What o’clock is it; aa Trath the ae: Policy.

10. The Fickle Girl; d, Miss P err. | &
1L. The Discontented oy ; ; and, The Labour of Taloness.
12. The Nursery Ground.

Package No. 15, an 36 conte

1, Norton Hargrave. RS ot
2. Idle Jane. . ee te
3. Robert Wiles; or, Too Fast at First, ae
4. The Generous Boy.
§. Miss Charlotte.

 

. Sauntering Sarna; and, Bustling Bob. st Ne ane
Honour and Honesty ; ; and, Wo Weather Sent invain,
Mary Kingston,

9, Judge No One’s Motives.
10. The Deaf Widow,
11. Lota. ‘
12. The Birth Day. |

Package No. 16, price 36 cont

1. The Prize Day.

2. Maria Calvert; and, Foseph Hervey.

3. The Passionate’ Boy. 3

4, The Holiday, Visit. a

§. Civility Never Lost. -

6. It Will do To-morrow.

7. Oliver Kirhy.

8. Fear to Fail.

9. Ethel Bulkeley. ,
10, A Stitch in Time. ae
11. Mrs, Gibson. ‘Oe iat
12. The Geod Mother. ee @

*:* The books in these thrge ackages cone aes ectivel Z

Series L., IL., and Ill. of “ Shades ‘of Character,” OO . c
They are also furnished by the Ugion in three volumes hae. and. }

in superfine 16mo. editions, and eae musijn Pen ng

 
ead

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