Chapter 10

LITTLE VICTORIES.

Though Mr. Tooke was so busy from having no usher, he found time to come and see Hugh pretty often. He had a sofa moved into that room: and he carried Hugh, without hurting him at all, and laid him down there comfortably, beside the fire. He took his tea there, with Mrs. Proctor; and he brought up his newspaper, and read from it anything which he thought would amuse the boy. He smiled at Hugh's scruple about occupying his room, and assured him that he was quite as well off in Mr. Carnaby's room, except that it was not so quiet as this, and therefore more fit for a person in health than for an invalid. Mr. Tooke not only brought up plenty of books from the school library, but lent Hugh some valuable volumes of prints from his own shelves.

Hugh could not look at these for long together. His head soon began to ache, and his eyes to be dazzled; for he was a good deal weakened. His mother observed also that he became too eager about views in foreign countries, and that he even grew impatient in his temper when talking about them.

"My dear boy," said she one evening, after tea, when she saw him in this state, and that it rather perplexed Mr. Tooke, "if you remember your resolution, I think you will put away that book."

"O, mother!" exclaimed he, "you want to take away the greatest pleasure I have!"

"If it is a pleasure, go on. I was afraid it was becoming a pain."

Mr. Tooke did not ask what this meant; but he evidently wished to know. He soon knew, for Hugh found himself growing more fidgety and more cross, the further he looked in the volume of Indian Views, till he threw himself back upon the sofa, and stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth, and stared at the fire, struggling, as his mother saw, to help crying. "I will take away the book,--shall I, my dear?"

"Yes, mother. O dear! I shall never keep my vow, I know."

Mrs. Proctor told Mr. Tooke that Hugh had made a resolution which she earnestly hoped he might be able to keep;--to bear cheerfully every disappointment and trouble caused by this accident, from the greatest to the least,--from being obliged to give up being a traveller by-and-by, to the shoemaker's wondering that he wanted only one shoe. Now, if looking at pictures of foreign countries made him less cheerful, it seemed to belong to his resolution to give up that pleasure for the present. Hugh acknowledged that it did; and Mr. Tooke, who was pleased at what he heard, carried away the Indian Views, and brought instead a very fine work on Trades, full of plates representing people engaged in every kind of trade and manufacture. Hugh was too tired to turn over any more pages to-night: but his master said the book might stay in the room now, and when Hugh was removed, it might go with him; and, as he was able to sit up more, he might like to copy some of the plates.

"Removed!" exclaimed Hugh.

His mother smiled, and told him that he was going on so well that he might soon now be removed to his uncle's.

"Where," said Mr. Tooke, "you will have more quiet and more liberty than you can have here. Your brother, and any other boys you like, can run over to see you at any time; and you will be out of the noise of the playground."

"I wonder how it is there is so little noise from the playground here," said Hugh.

"It is because the boys have been careful to make no noise since your accident. We cannot expect them to put themselves under such restraint for long."

"O no, no! I had better go. But, mother, you----you----aunt Shaw is very kind, but----"

"I shall stay with you as long as you want me."

Hugh was quite happy.

"But how in the world shall I get there?" he presently asked. "It is two whole miles; and we can't lay my leg up in the gig: besides its being so cold."

His mother told him that his uncle had a very nice plan for his conveyance. Mr. Annanby approved of it, and thought he might be moved the first sunny day.

"What, to-morrow?"

"Yes, if the sun shines."

Mr. Tooke unbolted the shutter, and declared that it was such a bright starry evening that he thought to-morrow would be fine.

The morning was fine; and during the very finest part of it came Mr. Shaw. He told Hugh that there was a good fire blazing at home in the back room that looked into the garden, which was to be Hugh's. From the sofa by the fire-side one might see the laurustinus on the grass-plot,--now covered with flowers: and when the day was warm enough to let him lie in the window, he could see the mill, and all that was going on round it.

Hugh liked the idea of all this: but he still looked anxious.

"Now tell me," said his uncle, "what person in all the world you would like best for a companion."

"In all the world!" exclaimed Hugh. "Suppose I say the Great Mogul!"

"Well; tell us how to catch him, and we will try. Meantime, you can have his picture. I believe we have a pack of cards in the house."

"But do you mean really, uncle,--the person I should like best in all the world,--out of Crofton?"

"Yes; out with it!"

"I should like Agnes best," said Hugh, timidly.

"We thought as much. I am glad we were right. Well, my boy, Agnes is there."

"Agnes there! Only two miles off! How long will she stay?"

"O, there is no hurry about that. We shall see when you are well what to do next."

"But will she stay till the holidays?"

"O, yes, longer than that, I hope."

"But then she will not go home with me for the holidays?"

"Never mind about the holidays now. Your holidays begin to-day. You have nothing to do but to get well now, and make yourself at home at my house, and be merry with Agnes. Now shall we go, while the sun shines? Here is your mother all cloaked up in her warm things."

"O, mother! Agnes is come," cried Hugh.

This was no news; for it was his mother who had guessed what companion he would like to have. She now showed her large warm cloak, in which Hugh was to be wrapped; and his neck was muffled up in a comforter.

"But how am I to go?" asked Hugh, trembling with this little bustle.

"Quietly in your bed," said his uncle. "Come, I will lift you into it."

And his uncle carried him downstairs to the front door, where two of Mr. Shaw's men stood with a litter, which was slung upon poles, and carried like a sedan-chair. There was a mattress upon the litter, on which Hugh lay as comfortably as on a sofa. He said it was like being carried in a palanquin in India,--if only there was hot sunshine, and no frost and snow.

Mr. Tooke, and Mrs. Watson, and Firth shook hands with Hugh, and said they should be glad to see him back again: and Mr. Tooke added that some of the boys should visit him pretty often till the breaking-up. Nobody else was allowed to come quite near; but the boys clustered at that side of the playground, to see as much as they could. Hugh waved his hand; and every boy saw it; and in a moment every hat and cap was off, and the boys gave three cheers,--the loudest that had ever been heard at Crofton. The most surprising thing was that Mr. Tooke cheered, and Mr. Shaw too. The men looked as if they would have liked to set down the litter, and cheer too: but they did not quite do that. They only smiled as if they were pleased.

There was one person besides who did not cheer. Tooke stood apart from the other boys, looking very sad. As the litter went down the by-road, he began to walk away; but Hugh begged the men to stop, and called to Tooke. Tooke turned: and when Hugh beckoned, he forgot all about bounds, leaped the paling, and came running. Hugh said,

"I have been wanting to see you so! but I did not like to ask for you particularly."

"I wish I had known that."

"Come and see me,--do," said Hugh. "Come the very first, wont you?"

"If I may."

"Oh, you may, I know."

"Well, I will, thank you. Good-bye."

And on went the litter, with Mrs. Proctor and Mr. Shaw walking beside it. The motion did not hurt Hugh at all; and he was so warmly wrapped up, and the day so fine, that he was almost sorry when the two miles were over. And yet there was Agnes out upon the steps; and she sat beside him on the sofa in his cheerful room, and told him that she had nothing to do but to wait on him, and play with him. She did not tell him yet that she must learn directly to nurse him, and, with her aunt's help, fill her mother's place, because her mother was much wanted at home: but this was in truth one chief reason for her coming.

Though there was now really nothing the matter with Hugh--though he ate, drank, slept, and gained strength--his mother would not leave him till she saw him well able to go about.

The carpenter soon came, with some crutches he had borrowed for Hugh to try; and when they were sure of the right length, Hugh had a new pair. He found it rather nervous work at first, using them; and he afterwards laughed at the caution with which he began. First, he had somebody to lift him from his seat, and hold him till he was firm on his crutches. Then he carefully moved forwards one crutch at a time, and then the other; and he put so much strength into it, that he was quite tired when he had been once across the room and back again. Every stumble made him shake all over. He made Agnes try; and he was almost provoked to see how lightly she could hop about; but then, as he said, she could put a second foot down to save herself, whenever she pleased. Every day, however, walking became easier to him; and he even discovered, when accidentally left alone, and wanting something from the opposite end of the room, that he could rise, and set forth by himself, and be independent. And in one of these excursions it was that he found the truth of what Agnes had told him--how much easier it was to move both crutches together. When he showed his mother this, she said she thought he would soon learn to do with only one.

Hugh found himself subject to very painful feelings sometimes--such as no one quite understood, and such as he feared no one was able to pity as they deserved. A surprise of this sort happened to him the evening before his father was to come to see him, and to fetch away his mother.

It was the dark hour in the afternoon--the hour when Mrs. Proctor and her children enjoyed every day a quiet talk, before Mr. Shaw came to carry Hugh into his aunt's parlour to tea. Nothing could be merrier than Hugh had been; and his mother and Agnes were chatting, when they thought they heard a sob from the sofa. They spoke to Hugh, and found that he was indeed crying bitterly.

"What is it, my dear?" said his mother. "Agnes, have we said anything that could hurt him?"

"No, no," sobbed Hugh. "I will tell you presently."

And presently he told them that he was so busy listening to what they said, that he forgot everything else, when he felt as if something had got between two of his toes; unconsciously he put his hand down, and his foot was not there! Nothing could be plainer than the feeling in his toes: and then, when he put out his hand, and found nothing, it was so terrible--it startled him so.

It was a comfort to him to find that his mother knew all about this. She came and kneeled beside his sofa, and told him that many persons who had lost a limb considered this odd feeling the most painful thing they had to bear for some time; but that, though the feeling would return occasionally through life, it would cease to be painful. When he had become so used to do without his foot as to leave off wanting or wishing for it, he would perhaps make a joke of the feeling, instead of being disappointed. At least she knew that some persons did so who had lost a limb.

This did not comfort Hugh much, for every prospect had suddenly become darkened. He said he did not know how he should bear his misfortune;--he was pretty sure he could not bear it. It seemed so long already since it had happened! And when he thought of the long long days, and months, and years, to the end of his life, and that he should never run and play, and never be like other people, and never able to do the commonest things without labour and trouble, he wished he was dead. He had rather have died.

Agnes thought he must be miserable indeed, if he could venture to say this to his mother. She glanced at her mother's face; but there was no displeasure there. Mrs. Proctor said this feeling was very natural. She had felt it herself, under smaller misfortunes than Hugh's: but she had found that, though the prospect appears all strewn with troubles, they come singly, and are not worth minding, after all. She told Hugh that, when she was a little girl, very lazy--fond of her bed--fond of her book--and not at all fond of washing and dressing----

"Why, mother, you!" exclaimed Hugh.

"Yes; that was the sort of little girl I was. Well, I was in despair, one day, at the thought that I should have to wash, and clean my teeth, and brush my hair, and put on every daily article of dress, every morning, as long as I lived. There was nothing I disliked so much; and yet it was the thing that must be done every day of my whole life."

"Did you tell anybody?" asked Hugh.

"No; I was ashamed to do that: but I remember I cried. You see how it turns out. Grown people, who have got to do everything by habit, so easily as not to think about it, wash and dress every morning, without ever being weary of it. We do not consider so much as once a year what we are doing at dressing-time, though at seven years old it is a very laborious and tiresome affair to get ready for breakfast."

"It is the same about writing letters," observed Agnes. "The first