Part 29 (1/2)

”My brother knew a banker's clerk who was transported for borrowing what he meant to put back again. No, Sam; people must bear the result of their doings; and your father judges for Hal as much in kindness as in anger.”

”I know he knows best.”

”You may see it as well as trust. With all his grand talk, do you really think that Hal would not be upset at the first hards.h.i.+p, or that he could face bullying or danger? Remember the bull, that was at least a vicious cow, and turned out to be a calf.”

Sam could not help laughing, as he said, ”Yes, that would never do at sea; and he would be done for if he were cowardly there. But I wish I could get out of sight of him till I am gone. And please hear my Euclid; I'll get the book, if you'll stay out here.”

”Therefore, if the two sides of two triangles be equal to one another, and the adjacent angles be equal each to each,” resounded through the laurels, as the walking party returned.

”Hallo! al fresco Euclid!” exclaimed Uncle John, as Sam with a blush ran after his blotted diagrams, as a sudden gust of wind blew them dancing over the garden. Captain Merrifield caught one, and restored it to Sam, with a pat on the back that made his teeth rattle in his head, but which made him as happy as a young sea-king, showing that they perfectly understood each other.

But to be ever so good a boy does not carry one through the examinations that stand at the door of every road of life for those who are not wealthy. Sam knew he was the dull boy of Mr. Carey's four pupils; and though from sheer diligence he was less often turned back than the rest, yet they could all excel him whenever they chose: his lessons all went against the grain, and were a sore trouble to him; and his uncle had shown much wrath to-day at his ignorance and backwardness. He was therefore in a great fright, and gave himself and Miss Fosbrook no peace, running after her every moment with his Euclid, his Colenso, or his slate.

”That boy will stupefy himself and his admirable cramming machine!”

exclaimed Uncle John, when coming out into the court after tea to talk to Purday, the two brothers heard, ”The complement A E is equal to the complement D E,” proceeding out of the school-room window.

”A truce with your complements to-night,” shouted the Captain; ”come down, Sam; I must have a game at hide-and-seek!”

Though hide-and-seek on the lawn with Papa was the supremest bliss that life had yet offered to the young Merrifields, and though Susan, Bessie, Annie, and Johnnie, had all severally burst into the room to proclaim it and summon Sam, he had refused them all; but this call settled it; he broke off in the middle of his rectangle, and dashed down stairs, to the great relief of kind Miss Fosbrook, who, with all her good-will, found her head beginning to grow weary of angles and right-angles on a hot evening in the height of summer.

The summer-house was to be HOME, and there the party were a.s.sembled-- nine in number, for not only Papa, but Uncle John, was going to play; and Henry, though forlorn and unnoticed, had wandered about with the rest all day, trying to do as usual, to forget the heavy load that pressed on him, and to believe that he was not going to be punished for mere unluckiness in borrowing, and for not answering impertinent questions. The world was very unlike itself to him; and he saw the enjoyment without being able to enter into it, just as a sick person sees the suns.h.i.+ne without feeling the warmth; but instead of penitence, he merely tried to shake off his compunction.

So there he stood in the ring, as Susan was finding out who was to be the first to hide, by pointing to each, at each word of the formula,

”Eggs, b.u.t.ter, cheese, bread, Sticks, stocks, stones, dead.”

”Dead” came to Uncle John, as perhaps Susan had contrived; and shrugging up his shoulders, he went off to hide, and his whoop was presently heard. He was not VERY good game; maybe he did not wish to be very long sought, for he was no further than in the tall French beans, generally considered as a stupid place to hide in. The children had been in hopes that he would catch Papa, which was always a very difficult matter, for the sailor was lighter of foot, as well as, of course, longer in limb, than any of the children; but they saw that Uncle John had not the slightest chance with him, and it was Bessie who was caught in her homeward race.

Bessie was rather a good hider, and was searched for far and wide before Sam's ”I spy! I spy!” gave the signal that a bit of the spotty cotton had been seen peeping out from under Purday's big potato-basket in the tool-house, and the whole party flew towards home. Bessie would not aim at Papa, for if so, she would certainly catch no one; but she hunted down David, who was too st.u.r.dy to be a quick runner, and who was very well pleased to be caught.

”I'll have Papa!” he said, as she captured him. ”I know of such a cunning place.”

David's place proved to be in among his likenesses, the cabbages, immediately in front of the summer-house. There he lay flat on the very wet mould, among the stout cabbages, all of which had a bead of wet in every wrinkle of their great leaves, so that when Susan had at length spied him, and he came plunging out, his brown-holland--to say nothing of his knees--was in a state that would have caused most mammas to send him to be instantly undressed; but n.o.body even saw it, and he charged instantly towards the door of the summer-house, not pursuing anyone in particular, but cutting all off from their retreat. He slipped aside, however, and let all the lesser game pa.s.s by uncaught; his soul soared higher than even Uncle John, who looked on exceedingly amused at the small man's stratagem, and at the long dodging that took place between him and his father, the quick lithe Captain skipping hither and thither, and trying to pop in one side while his enemy was on the other; and the square, determined, little, puffing, panting boy, guarding his door, hands on knees, ever ready for a dart wherever the attempt was made. The whole party in the home nearly went into fits at the fun, and at the droll remarks Uncle John made at this hare and tortoise spectacle; till at last either the Captain gave in, or Davie made a cleverer attack than ever, for with a great shout he flew upon Papa, and held him fast by the legs.

Everyone shrieked with delight; Papa hid in such clever places, and when found, he roared so splendidly, that it struck the little ones with terror, and did the hearts of the elders good, to hear him; indeed, the greatest ambition Johnnie entertained was to roar like Papa. Then he could make his voice sound as if out of any place he chose, so that no one could guess by his ”whoop” where to look for him; and this time it seemed to be quite out at the other end of the kitchen-garden, where they were all looking, when another ”whoop”

came apparently down from Sam's pear-tree on the lawn; and while they were peeping up into it, ”whoop” re-echoed from the stables! At last, as Annie was gazing up and round as if she even thought it as well to look right into the sky for Papa, she suddenly beheld the two merriest eyes in the world, on the roof of the summer-house itself.

He had been lying there on the thatch, watching at his ease all the wanderings of the seekers, and uttering those wonderful whoops to bewilder them.

”I spy! I spy!” shrieked Annie, flying in, even while her father sprang to the ground, and with Davie's manoeuvre on a larger scale, seemed to be taking his choice of all the fugitives rus.h.i.+ng up from all parts.

One elder boy, and one younger, he was hunting down the gooseberry- path, when just as he was about to pounce on the former, he said that it was not Sam, stood still, and folded his arms. A shriek made him look round; little David stood sobbing and crying piteously.

”Davie! what, Davie! What is it, my man? Where are you hurt!”

”No, no! I'm not hurt! Catch Hal, Papa.”

”No, David. I do not play with boys that act like Henry.”