Pastors and Masters

I

“Well, this is a nice thing! A nice thing this schoolmastering! Up at seven, and in a room with a black fire … I should have thought it might have occurred to one out of forty boys to poke it … and hard at work, before other men think it time to be awake! And while you are about it, don’t pile on as much coal as it would take the day’s profits of the school to pay for. And here is a thing I have to see every morning of my life! Here is a thing I have to be degraded by, every morning when I come down to an honest day’s work, a middle-aged man working to support his family! I am surprised to see people with such a want of self-respect. I admit that I am. I would rather see a boy come in roundly late, than slip in on the stroke, half dressed and half asleep, and pass as being in time. It is an ungentlemanly thing to do.”

Mr. Merry, a tall, thin man about fifty, leaned back in his chair, and fixed on his pupils his little, pale, screwed up eyes, to which he had the gift of imparting an alluring kindness. His feelings towards them, affection, disgust, pride and despair, seemed to oust each other over his face.

“Yes, I am sick and tired of this sort of thing. I will not mince matters with you. And get to your seats without upsetting everything on your way, will you please? Oh, who would be a schoolmaster? I should not be doing my duty to you all, if I did not warn you all against it. And I suppose it is a good thing to have the east wind from an east window blowing in upon forty people, thirty-nine of them growing boys, before their breakfast on a March morning? And … one, two, three, four, five, six, seven … it takes eleven boys to shut a window, does it? And I suppose I cannot make a few remarks, without having you all fidgeting and gaping, and behaving like a set of clodhoppers instead of gentlemen? Get to your work at once; and don’t look up again before the gong.”

Mr. Merry gave a gesture of despairing acquiescence, as the boys obeyed this summons without his endorsing it. He followed them down to their basement dining-room.

Mrs. Merry, a smooth-headed, mild-looking woman with a grieved expression, was standing at the head of a long table, pouring out tea. Her four little girls were seated near her. A thin dark lady of forty, matron and teacher of music and French, was cutting bread.

“Well, Mother,” said Mr. Merry, in the tone of a tender husband and tried man.

“Well, dear,” said Mrs. Merry, without raising her eyes.

“Good morning, Miss Basden,” said Mr. Merry, with the almost exaggerated courtesy due to a lady he employed.

“Good morning, Mr. Merry,” said Miss Basden, in a tone in which equality, respect, and absorption in her duty were rather remarkably mingled.

“Now, look here,” said Mr. Merry, “I have never had such an ungentlemanly set of boys. Now, go out again, all of you, and come in like gentlemen meeting a lady for the first time in the day.”

A retirement from the room was succeeded by a chorus of “Good morning, Mrs. Merry.”

“Good morning, boys,” said Mrs. Merry.

“Have you all met Miss Basden already today?” Mr. Merry inquired, looking round frigidly.

“Good morning, Miss Basden.”

“Good morning, boys,” said Miss Basden, in a casual tone, still cutting.

“Hillman!” said Mr. Merry. “How often am I to say that I will not have sitting down before grace is said? Pray do not show your nature to the rest of us.”

Hillman gained his feet.

“For these and all other mercies may we be given thankful hearts,” said Mr. Merry, his eyes taking a covert general survey.

“Johnson, I am disgusted! I am more. I cannot tell you before ladies what I think of you. I hoped I should never have a boy in my school who would not control himself for a moment to give his attention to sacred things. What was it, pray, that you had to say, of such importance that it could not wait for a second?”

Johnson, who had been observing that it was wise to ask for thankful hearts for such mercies, was silent.

“Now,” said Mr. Merry, preparing again to bend his head, “we will say grace again, and I hope nothing so humiliating will occur a second time. I shall not speak of the matter, Johnson.”

Mrs. Merry and Miss Basden bowed their heads a little lower than before, though it was hardly to be thought that their experience had not been suitable.

“I cannot bear to see a sulky boy,” said Mr. Merry, throwing a disgusted glance at Johnson.

“Will you have tea or coffee, dear?” said Mrs. Merry.

“Oh, either, either; anything will do for me.”

“I always arrange for you to have your choice, dear.”

“Yes, Mother; yes. You take good care of me. You spend your life taking care of people, I am afraid.” Mr. Merry looked round on the boys with an air of rebuking ingratitude.

“Yes, I have done a good deal of taking care in my time. I think I have done very little else.”

“Well, Mrs. Merry, we must begin to take care of you,” said Miss Basden, putting the toast rack near to Mrs. Merry.

“How did you sleep, Miss Basden?” said Mr. Merry, in an extremely interested manner.

“Mrs. Merry,” Miss Basden said, in a rather high monotone, “the boys are saying that the marmalade is watery. I am telling them that no water is used in marmalade, that marmalade does not contain water; so I do not see how it can be.”

“I do not see how it can be, either; but of course I wish to be told if anything is not as nice as it can be. Let me taste the marmalade.”

Miss Basden offered a spoon from the pot.

“It seems to me that it is very nice. Perhaps I am not a judge of marmalade. I do not care to eat it on bread with butter myself. One or the other is enough for me. But it seems to me to be very nice.”

“Mother, don’t water the boys’ preserves,” said Mr. Merry, nodding his head up and down. “Don’t try to make things go further than they will go, you know. The game isn’t worth the candle.”

“I do not understand you, dear. There is never any extra water in preserves. They would not keep if they had water in them. There would not be any object in it. It would be less economical, not more.”

“Oh, well, Mother, I don’t know anything about the kitchen business and that. But if the marmalade is not right, let us have it right another time. That is all I mean.”

“I do not think you know what you mean, dear.”

“No, Mother, no; very likely I don’t.”

“The housekeeping is not your province, Mr. Merry,” said Miss Basden. “You will have us coming and telling you how to teach Latin, if you are not careful.”

“Ah, Miss Basden, ah, you saucy lady! Not such a babel down at that part of the room! Not such a babel. Do you hear me? Be quiet, or go away, and leave the room to civilized people.” Mr. Merry looked fiercely towards the other end of the table, which certainly tended to be the noisier.

“Mr. Burgess is not going to allow us much of his company at breakfast this morning,” said Miss Basden.

“I wonder if Fanny called him,” said Mrs. Merry.

“Yes, she called him,” said Miss Basden.

“Ah! he’s fond of the sheets, is Mr. Burgess. He is fond of the sheets,” said Mr. Merry; while the boys found this talk of the under-master a cause for nudges and smiles.

“I never can understand how people can lie in bed in daylight,” said Miss Basden.

“Now it would do you good to do a little more of it, Miss Basden,” said Mr. Merry. “You do too much of the other thing, as I always tell you. It would do you good to do a little more of it.”

“Oh, that sort of advice does not have much effect on me, Mr. Merry,” said Miss Basden, again cutting bread.

“You give poor Miss Basden a great deal of work to do,” said Mr. Merry, looking down the rows of boys with vague disapproval.

“You must make haste, all of you. Mr. Herrick will be here to read prayers in a minute,” said Mrs. Merry.

“Mother, ought not Mr. Burgess’ bacon to be kept hot?” said Mr. Merry, his voice conveying criticism of Mr. Burgess, and the need of diplomacy with him.

“We do not usually expect people to come down when breakfast is over,” said Mrs. Merry. “The bacon was hot when it was brought in.”

“Fanny,” said Mr. Merry, in a tone of apology to the maid who was waiting, “just put Mr. Burgess’ bacon down in the fender, will you? Thank you, Fanny, very much.”

“I do not like more bread cut than will be eaten,” said Mrs. Merry.

“Mrs. Merry, several boys asked for some more only a minute ago,” said Miss Basden.

“If you asked for it, eat it,” said Mr. Merry. “If you asked for it, eat it. Do not give the trouble of cutting it, and then cause more disturbance by refusing it. If you have eaten all the rest, you can easily manage a little more.”

As the chairs were pushed from the table, Mr. Herrick entered. He was the actual owner of the school, Mr. Merry being his partner. He was a short, impressive old man with a solid neck and head, heavy grey hair, and features with a touch of the Jew. He was a writer, and kept his time for his own, and read prayers to the school by way of acting as its head. He had placed his school in the old university town, to be near the college where he had spent his youth. Mr. Merry stood out in the room, half bowing towards him.

“Good morning, Mr. Herrick, good morning. It is a frosty day. That is why we are a little late. Frost makes good appetites; that is one good thing that it does. We were just going to get up from the table, when there was a demand for more bread and butter. By no means the first demand, eh, boys?”

The boys signified amongst themselves their sense of the doubleness of Mr. Merry’s nature. Mr. Herrick half bowed in his turn to Mr. Merry, quite bowed to Mrs. Merry, and again to Miss Basden; nodded to the boys, and sat down and opened the Bible. As he did so, there appeared Mr. Burgess, who walked into the room with an air of being unconscious that he would not find things at a natural stage for a newcomer.

“Ah, Mr. Burgess,” said Mr. Merry, as Mr. Burgess’ eyes began to take in that matters had gone so far; “we have been talking about you. The only thing we could do, as we could not talk to you. There is a place that is very comfortable on a frosty morning. Eh?”

Mr. Merry’s way of addressing his head and his junior for the ears of the boys, had grown to a habit.

“Am I late?” said Mr. Burgess, in a casual, courteous tone.

“Good morning, Burgess,” said Herrick, his eyes on his book.

Mr. Merry sat down.

Mr. Burgess, as just perceiving that prayers were about to be held, took his seat.

“Pray do not allow us to keep you waiting for breakfast, Burgess,” said Herrick. “Take your seat at the table, I beg of you.”

“Oh no, Mr. Herrick. I shall like to … take my part with you as usual, thank you. It matters very little to me what time I breakfast. Often I am out of doors for an hour or two before. I have very little sense of time in the morning.”

There was a titter from the boys.

“Yes, Mr. Herrick,” said Mr. Merry, with an air of apology, and a fierce sidelong glance; “he goes out sometimes before breakfast to get his exercise, you know. Young fellows always will be thinking of keeping fit, you know.”

“Mr. Burgess will have to take out the boys this morning, Mr. Merry,” said Miss Basden, leaning forward.

Mr. Burgess sat with an air exclusively expectant of Herrick’s reading. He greatly disliked Miss Basden, though there was a belief among the boys that he designed to wed her. Herrick began to read, and Miss Basden listened with colour deepened, and Mr. Burgess with an appearance of attentive interest. When the assembly rose from its knees, Herrick at once bore the Bible from the room. Mr. Burgess stepped to the window, and sought the signs of the sky.

“Come, now, Mr. Burgess,” said Mr. Merry, making amends to his junior by lifting his bacon himself from the fender. “If you are not hungry by this time, you should be. Pray do not hurry. The boys will not hurt by a little waiting.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Merry,” said Mr. Burgess, coming to the table, and taking up the sugar tongs. “I had no idea of the time. But boys do not hurt by a little waiting; that is true. Adams, just see if my paper is in the hall.”

Adams obeyed with a feeling of respect for Mr. Burgess, which Mr. Merry was almost disposed to share. Mr. Burgess received his paper, and put down his fork to turn to its pages. Mr. Merry inquired if the boys were waiting for their footman to bring them their boots.

Mr. Burgess, left to himself, set to his breakfast with an energy he had not shown that day, except at his toilet. Even if boys did hurt by waiting, these would not have suffered. He put his paper in his pocket, and at a distance from the house began to read. Returning, he saw Mr. Merry at a window. He looked back at the paper, and in a moment turned to a boy and said: “So you see, Parliament thought that Bill a wrong one, and it was thrown out.”

“Well, what news, Mr. Burgess?” said Mr. Merry, coming into the hall.

“Oh, nothing to speak of. Just a few little things to glance at,” said Mr. Burgess, defining the scope of his attention. “Would you care to have the paper, Mr. Merry?”

“Thank you, Mr. Burgess, thank you. I am a poor man. I don’t rise to the Times.”

Mr. Burgess went without a word to the classroom where the elder pupils were taught. Mr. Merry shuffled into the other, and sat down before the younger boys. He had not been prompted to the teacher’s life by his liberal education. There were other and more urgent reasons for his choice.

Mrs. Merry taught the scripture of the school, and there was a general sense of her fitness for the task, based upon her temperament rather than her scholarship. Mr. Merry often mentioned the fact of her teaching it to parents.

The boys, who had a tendency to giggle this morning, took their seats about her table.

“It is the scripture lesson,” she said, with peaceful lips. “I think we are forgetting that.”

The boys read aloud a chapter verse by verse, and Mrs. Merry added observations, in a gentle, rather peculiar voice used only on these occasions. At questions she turned to the commentary, and read it out; and it was felt that difficulties had been met as far as reverence permitted. An especial discrepancy caused an increase of mirth. Mrs. Merry looked straight at the questioner.

“I don’t think we will cavil about it, Johnson. We will just think of it. That will be the best, and the most difficult thing. The book says nothing, you see.”

It was felt that a cheap effort had been made; but the laughter held its own.

Mrs. Merry looked very long at a boy.

“It is only the Bible, Bentley; only the most sacred book in existence that you are laughing at.”

“It is only the Bible, Bentley.”

“I shall have to give you up, boys.”

Mrs. Merry, with a look round that said many things, rose and walked from the room.

“Constant laughing and inattention make it impossible to teach them!”

Mr. Merry entered, hunching his shoulders and driving his hands violently into his pockets.

“Well, now, I am degraded. I am degraded. I feel it a personal humiliation to have to come and speak to people supposed to be gentlemen, about their making it impossible for a lady to teach them. For a lady to teach them scripture! For a lady to teach them holy things! There is an unspeakable thing to find happening in my school. I shall not speak of it. I cannot bring myself to do so. And I hope that no boy in this room will speak to me again today. Because I could not come down to his level, and there is the truth for him.”

It was Mrs. Merry’s birthday, and she knew that a present from the boys would be placed on the table at tea. It had been subscribed for by them in private consultation with Miss Basden, and chosen by that lady and Mrs. Merry in the town together.

By tea time Mrs. Merry had reached the state, which justified her yearly message, that she was prevented by a headache from appearing. The boys begged Miss Basden to approach her. Mr. Merry sat vaguely ill at ease, kept as it were in bands by the parcel at the head of the table.

Mrs. Merry sent word that she would try and come for a moment; and entered, flushed and unexpectant, and approached her place.

“Why, what is this? What can this be? Why, I do not understand this, boys.”

Miss Basden stepped forward and quickly cut the string, in the manner of one tying gunpowder to a friend at the stake.

“Oh, boys,” said Mrs. Merry. “Oh, boys! Oh, what is this? Oh, you should not spend your money on me. I had no expectation of anything like this. And the very thing that I needed! Some good fairy must have …”

Her voice failed.

“There, Mother, there, you’re not well,” said Mr. Merry. “You’re not well, as you told us, Mother. And so you get upset. We know how it is. It is just because you look after us all too well. We know how pleased you are. So you need not trouble to tell us any more. Come, have your tea, boys. Have your tea, and it is very kind of you all. What is that commotion in the hall above? Williams, just see what the commotion in the hall is. Thank you, Williams, very much.”

It was reported that a lady was in the hall, and that Mr. Herrick requested that Mr. Merry would join him.

“What a time to come to see a school! After keeping myself free from seven in the morning, I am not allowed to have a cup of tea in peace. People will be coming in the middle of the night next. If there’s a thing I can’t bear, it’s want of consideration.”

Mr. Merry hastened up the stairs, and at the top caused his face to undergo a change, preparatory to whatever final one might be expedient.

“Oh, this is Mr. Merry! What a shame to call him away from his boys! But I can only stay a moment, so I shall not keep him.”

“Now, what a thing to be saying of me!” said Mr. Merry, taking the stranger’s hand in both of his, with fond eyes. “What a thing to be saying of me! That I should think it a shame to be called away to you. Not but what I am fond of my boys. Yes, I am fond of my boys.”

“I saw such a dear little boy in the hall.”

“Ah, the little rascal! Little mischief that he is, always running about, when he ought to be at his books! Ah, well, they like a run from time to time. And he is not over strong, the little fellow. When he came to us, it went to my heart to see him. But my wife, she coddles him, you know. She coddles him, and he is a different boy.”

“Oh, how nice for an anxious mother to hear! Because we can’t expect Mr. Herrick to give his mind to all the little things a mother thinks of.”

“Oh, we won’t tell Mr. Herrick what we think of him,” said Mr. Merry, as his chief followed his custom of leaving him unhampered play for his gifts. “Perhaps he knows without our telling him. Sometimes I see him reading all about himself in the papers.”

“And about the general teaching of the school? Mr. Herrick does not do a great deal of the ordinary work, does he?” Mr. Merry reflected that Herrick had gone far in the minutes before his release. “But of course you have masters to help you?”

“Now, I tell you a thing,” said Mr. Merry, lifting his questioner’s hand up and down, a picture of Mr. Burgess before his eyes. “You have confidence in us. In me and my wife, and my good helpers; and above all, in your boy. And there is one of us you won’t be disappointed in. I can promise you that. And that is the last. And the first too, isn’t he? Bless him, yes. And now there is a thing I want to say. I am here to make the boys happy. Little fellows away from home need to be made happy, you know. A master who is known all over the world is an enormous thing for a boy. I wish I had had as much in my young days. But that is not quite all that is wanted. A mother knows that.”

On his way back through the hall Mr. Merry passed Mr. Herrick without a word. The quality of Mr. Merry’s that gained him his bread was never alluded to between them.

“Well, there is another one come and gone, Mother. Another ship in the night. One never knows if anything will come of it. And a third of what comes out of one more boy won’t overflow our coffers, will it?”

There was a titter from the boys.

“You get on with your tea,” said Mr. Merry. “And don’t be so humiliatingly deceived as to think that another one of you would be of any advantage to anyone. Because such an idea would be humiliating to you. I can tell you that.”

“I do not think I could do with another boy,” said Mrs. Merry, in a gentle, distinct tone.

“No, I should not like you to have anything more on you, Mrs. Merry,” said Miss Basden.

“I don’t know that I could either,” said Mr. Burgess.

“Oh well, Mr. Burgess, it wouldn’t be too much on you,” said Mr. Merry. “We should see to that. It would be all fitting in together for you, you know.”

Mr. Burgess looked towards the window.

“I could always do with what had to be done with,” said Miss Basden. “But the boys are quite mistaken, if they think that is any indication that they are needed by anyone. It is they who do the needing, I think.”

“Yes, Miss Basden,” said Mr. Merry, nodding his head. “It is indeed. They who do the needing! I should think so. I should be glad to be told of something they don’t need. Because I don’t know of anything, and that is the truth. I have just been hearing what is good enough for them. And I don’t see anything about them that seems to call for it. I don’t, indeed.”