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At these words all reverence for masters was thrown aside, and the vehement clapping of hands soon showed that Harry's good name was once more firmly established, and not only established, but that his clearance gave joy to the school.
"But," resumed Mr Franklyn, when the noise had abated, "to make assurance doubly sure, I will go a step further, and tell you who did use the book during the examination."
With a sort of presentiment of what was coming, all eyes were turned upon Egerton; while in the hearts of many a feeling of shame -- honest, good-producing shame -- sprang up for the unkind part they had played to Harry.
"On turning to Egerton's papers," continued Mr Franklyn, "I at once detected a strong similarity to the translation I had just examined; and on a close comparison found his translation coincided word for word with the book found in Campbell's possession, and which he was accused of using. Whether the book belongs to Egerton or not, I do not know; but this is evident, that it was he, and not Campbell, who was guilty of taking unfair advantage of his companions. How the book came into Campbell's desk I know not. But as Egerton has been, in these two matters, convicted of telling a wilful untruth, I am ready to believe him capable of any further deceitful conduct to screen himself. It rests with Doctor Palmer to conclude this most painful affair."
As Mr Franklyn ended, and resumed his seat, there was a mixed murmur, partly from pleasure at Harry's innocence, partly from an impulse, which seemed to take possession of all, of snatching the punishment of Egerton out of the lawful hands.
The noise, however, instantly ceased when Doctor Palmer rose.
"None of you can be more glad than I am," he said, "that Campbell's innocence has been fully proved, and none of you more sorry than I, that he has been punished unjustly. At the same time, you must clearly understand that the mistake, which Mr Prichard and I made, does not in the least degree exonerate Egerton. He has done that for which I punished Campbell; removing as he thought all traces of his guilt, and throwing them on another's shoulders. And then, not merely to screen himself, but to ruin that other, he tells one deliberate lie after another. Not content even with that, he provokes the innocent boy whose reputation he had blasted, and the result you all know. Those who joined in bullying Campbell last night, I forgive. They have confessed. Warburton has not done so. For his lie, I punish him."
And then, calling Warburton, he caned him severely before the whole school, a punishment but rarely adopted, and once only remembered to have taken place by the elder boys.
"With regard to Egerton," he resumed, "there is but one course for me to adopt." And he rang a bell which communicated with his house, and, after a breathless pause of about three minutes, William entered, bearing a birch, with an expression of mock gravity on his countenance. Egerton's appearance was one of abject meanness; his indifference was all gone; he was the picture of trembling, tearful cowardice.
The birch had never been used in the recollection of any of the boys. It had only existed -- a shadowy terror. But now that it appeared in all its stern dignity, Egerton, the destined recipient, fell on his knees, and, with streaming eyes -- coward as he was -- begged imploringly for forgiveness.
It was not likely his cries would be of any avail. Nor, indeed, were they. Nor would the Doctor prolong the sickening scene. The birch did its duty, and well.
In five minutes Egerton had been birched in such a manner that every one thought he would certainly never forget it till his dying day. Egerton himself was too "personally affected" to think of anything, but contented himself with howling lustily. And finally he heard the Doctor's voice, telling him he was expelled, and would leave the school in two hours.
"There will be no more work to-day," said Doctor Palmer, when he had recovered breath from his exertions. "Besides the pleasure of proclaiming Campbell's innocence, I have to add that Mr Franklyn tells me his papers were far superior to those of the rest of his class; and that, judging from them, he would have easily maintained his position as head boy, had he not left us of his own accord, provoked and ill-treated, I cordially allow. I only trust we may be able to discover him, and have him once more among us. You see, boys," he added affectionately, "truth and innocence will always right themselves sooner or later."
And then, as the masters left the room, there rose the loud ringing cheers that English boys know so well to give. The innocent was justified; the guilty punished! Was not that enough to make all hearts glad?
But meantime, he, whom all this most chiefly concerned, still slept in the barn on his bed of hay, a dreamless sleep, unconscious alike of sorrow and of that which might have changed the whole colour of his life -- the removing of the burden of guilt which had weighed him down. But it had come too late. Was it better so? Maybe it was.
Chapter XVI.
Blewcome's Royal Menagerie.
A well-matched pair -- Harry awakes -- New characters -- Introduction -- Breakfast -- A trifle happier -- His new life.
Mr Blewcome and his wife, Mrs Blewcome, were great travellers. There were few places, large and small, in England, where the forms of Mr and Mrs Blewcome were unknown.
Mr Blewcome was the proprietor of a travelling menagerie, and was a very distinguished personage in his own way, a man with a mind far above your ordinary proprietors of "wild beastesses," as Mrs Blewcome informed all whom she met. A man who had adopted that profession with the noble object of raising it to its proper level. Noble and enthusiastic Blewcome!
Mr Blewcome was tall and thin; Mrs B. was short and stout. The face of the manager and proprietor of Blewcome's Royal Menagerie was sallow and cadaverous. The face of his spouse was rubicund to a degree. In fact, in everything, the pair were admirably suited, according to the principle, that the more unlike two people are, the better they will agree; and they led a very prosperous "Jack Sprat and his wife" sort of life, roaming from place to place, with their caravans of wild beasts and yellow chariot of unhealthy-looking musicians, whose performance consisted of a very small quantity of trumpet, and a very great deal of drum. First-rate things in bands, drums are; they make so much noise, and hide such a multitude of mistakes. Besides, one tune will last so much longer with a judicious intermixture of drum. So Mr and Mrs Blewcome went about England, and Mr Blewcome gave incorrect lectures about impossible wild beasts, and Mrs Blewcome took the money at the door; while outside, the band played to delighted audiences, who always came to hear the music because they had not to pay anything for that pleasure.
Now it so happened that Blewcome's Royal Menagerie had made a most successful sojourn in Wilton, and was now on its way to the neighbouring town of Newbury; and, having reached the third milestone from Wilton, was passing the barn where Harry slept, fancying himself miles away from the hated grammar-school. Like most boys, he had not much idea of distance, and, besides, the night had deceived him.
The rumbling of the vans, and the growling of the beasts, who were making a great deal of very unnecessary noise, startled Harry from his sleep; and he ran out of his strange sleeping-chamber to see what it all meant, and stood staring open-mouthed at the curious divers-coloured caravans as they rolled along. The yellow chariot led the way. But the musicians were silent, and the drum swung from the back of the vehicle unbeaten and at peace. Last of all came Mr and Mrs Blewcome in the gaudiest of the caravans, drawn by two piebald steeds with very long manes and very thin tails, and who seemed to have seen their best days.
The eagle eye of Timothy Blewcome caught sight of Harry, and, turning to his wife, he remarked, in a tragic tone (he was a bit of an orator, was Blewcome; at least, he thought so):
"Jemimar, he'll do!"
And their conveyance came to a standstill, and Harry saw the portly form of the said Jemima Blewcome descending the caravan-steps and coming towards him.
He was not the least afraid, she looked so kind and good-natured.
"My dear!" said Mrs Blewcome, courteously, with the blandest of smiles.
"Yes," answered Harry, vacantly.
"My dear!" repeated Mrs Blewcome, "come along with me!"
Harry wanted his breakfast. He was ravenously hungry.
"Give me something to eat, then," he said stolidly, "and I'll come."
"Get up into the van, my dear, and I will. Here, Tim, help the boy up."
And Harry, nothing daunted, reached out his hand, and Timothy Blewcome gravely assisted him up the steps.
Gazing admiringly at the gorgeous colouring of the door and sides of the strange habitation on wheels, Harry sat himself down in one corner of the van, and, somehow or other, soon began to feel quite at home. Mrs Blewcome then ascended, the word was given, and the whole cavalcade moved on.
It was the work of a moment; and there was Harry, not the least realising his position, a member of a travelling menagerie. It was a change from the previous day, certainly.
The space of the apartment was somewhat confined, and the springs seemed to be very bad, for the caravan jolted along in such a manner that he could scarcely help upsetting the cup of bread and milk the motherly hands of Mrs Blewcome had given him.
He never uttered a word, but ate his breakfast, and enjoyed it thoroughly, thinking it far nicer than all the good things he had had in the Doctor's study on the previous night. Last night! Could it really be last night? It seemed such a long, long while ago.
"He never uttered a word, but ate his breakfast, and enjoyed it thoroughly." -- WILTON SCHOOL, page 131.
Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Blewcome were conversing confidentially together at the other end of the van; and, from what Harry could gather, this appeared to be the state of the case:
The labours and responsibilities of the menagerie were becoming a little too much for the proprietor and his wife. They could not afford to pay a man to help, nor did they care to enter into partnership with any one. They must pick up some lad who would do all sorts of odd jobs, and require nothing more than his keep. Plenty of old clothes were always to be found. And when Harry heard them congratulating themselves on their "find," he knew they alluded to him, and that they had marked out his future for him as a member of their enterprising profession.
Shortly afterwards, they told him their plans, and what they wanted him to do, and what they would do for him in return; and they spoke so kindly, that poor, friendless, homeless Harry was thankful he had fallen in with them, and began to feel a trifle happier.
When his father came home, he would be sure to search for him and find him, of course. Harry flattered himself. Till then, what better could he do than stay where he thought he should find kindness. And in this last supposition he was right. First impressions go a long way. Harry took to his patrons at once, and did everything they told him willingly and obediently, though at times the drudgery lay very hard upon him. But the excitement and freshness of his strange new life kept him up; and, moreover, he had a home, and food, and clothes, such as they were; and when he ran away from school, he never knew, or even dreamt, how he should get these. So he must not mind the drudgery.
And Mr and Mrs Blewcome, in their turn, soon came to treat him quite as a child of their own; so that one day, as they were rumbling along, Harry (it is true, after numerous questionings) opened his heart to the motherly Mrs Blewcome, and told her all his story.
But often at night he would lie awake for hours; realising then in the quiet, when there was no stir to attract his thoughts, how utterly lonely he was in the world, and his lips would send out his one sad burthen:
"Mamma, mamma, why did you die? why did you die?"
Chapter XVII.
The Lost Found.