CHAPTER XII.

STUNG TO THE QUICK.

James could be neither goaded to retaliation by the provocation of his persecutors, nor stimulated to self-defence by the arguments and persuasions of his friends, so thoroughly had the bitter lesson of submission to superiors been impressed by the iron fingers of stern necessity; but an event now occurred, which, placing the matter before him in a new light, removed his scruples in a moment.

The persons who had put the snow in the fireplace were well known to James, for Arthur had not scrupled to expose them after the time had elapsed during which he had promised to keep the secret. James also knew that they still continued to instigate Chuck Witham and other boys to annoy and insult him. He occupied a side seat near one of the back corners of the schoolhouse, and his head, when bent over his book, was on a level with a crevice between two logs, that was stuffed with clay and moss. One night after school, Chuck Witham bored a small hole through this clay, and filled the hole with cotton, for fear James would feel the draft and observe it. The next day he brought to school, half an ox-goad, with a long brad in it, made of a saddler’s awl.

The day was warm for the season; there was quite a large fire, and at recess time, the master opened a window on each side of the fire to create a draft, and ventilate and cool the room.

James was in his seat writing, when he suddenly sprang to his feet, upsetting his inkstand, and throwing all his books to the floor. The master was walking back and forth on the floor, and seeing him put his hand to his head, looked out of the window and saw Chuck running from the hole, for the woods. He instantly pursued and caught him, with the goad in his hand, called the scholars in and gave him a severe whipping. Witham, with the expectation of mitigating his punishment, declared that he was persuaded to it by Morse, Riggs, and Orcutt, and that Will Morse gave him a two-bladed knife to do this and other things he had done to James. This declaration was made before the whole school, and Peter and Arthur Nevins now recollected that William Morse stayed in during recess, a thing he had never been known to do before, and it was evident to all that he had stayed in to gloat over the torture about to be inflicted upon one who had never injured, or even spoken to him.

The brad was long, and entered deep, for the stab was given with good-will, and the blood flowed freely.

At noontime the boys and girls collected together in knots, commenting upon the affair, when Chuck Witham, still writhing under the effects of the castigation, for it was most severe, made some disparaging remark about redemptioners, in a tone loud enough for James to hear, as he was passing by on his way to the spring, to wash off the blood that had dried on his neck, upon which William Morse laughed heartily, in which he was joined by Riggs and Orcutt.

Perfectly willing to pick a quarrel, Bert replied,—“Morse, you should have had that licking yourself; for you set Chuck on, and have been at the bottom of all the mean tricks that have been done, and that you had not courage to do yourself.”

This brought a sharp rejoinder from Morse. Riggs and Orcutt sided with Morse, and the debate became so warm that just as James came along on his return from the spring, Morse, feeling he was getting the worst of the argument, caught a stick from the wood-pile and felled Bertie to the ground. James saw the blow fall on the head of the boy whom he loved better than himself,—yea, almost worshipped,—his scruples vanished in a moment. It was no longer the workhouse boy against the landed gentry; but, forgetting all that, he dealt Morse a blow that cut through his upper lip, knocked out a tooth, flattened his nose, and sent him backward over the wood-pile. Riggs turned to run, but came in contact with the broad shoulders of Arthur Nevins, who was purposely in the way, and before he could recover himself, James, seizing him behind, flung him to the ground, and catching up the stick that fell from the hand of Morse, beat him till he cried murder. While this was going on George Orcutt would have made his escape, but Stillman Russell, the most retiring boy in school, and so diffident that he would blush if you spoke to him, put out his foot and tripped him up. Before he could rise, Arthur Nevins put his foot on him, but James went into the schoolhouse, and resumed his studies.

“Now for Chuck Witham,” shouted Will Edibean. Chuck took to his heels with three boys after him, but Edward Conly cried,—“He’s had enough; he’s only an understrapper,” and they came back.

The boys had formed a ring round Orcutt, and whenever he would attempt to break through, one would trip him, another pull him over backwards, and while on his back others would pelt him with great chunks of snow and crust, or push three or more smaller boys on top of him; and even the girls took part and flung snowballs, so much was his conduct detested. In the morning before school, it being a thaw, the smaller boys had rolled up several great balls of snow, meaning at noon to make a fort. With these they buried him, and stuck up over him, this inscription, printed with a smut coal on a piece of fence-board,

“JUSTICE.

_Administered by the Scholars of District No. 2._”

They next formed a cordon around him, snowballs in their hands, and the moment he attempted to move pelted him anew, and kept watch till the master was so near that he could not but notice the inscription, and then all went into the schoolhouse and were seated when he entered.

Morse having washed himself at the spring, came in late, in company with Riggs, while George Orcutt crawled out of his prison, and sneaked home.

The face of Morse was discolored, and his lips swollen, and Riggs exhibited two red stripes on the back of both hands, and one across his face, extending from the roots of the hair across the forehead and face to the lower jaw. They tried to attract the attention of the master. Morse displayed a bloody handkerchief, and Riggs snivelled occasionally, but the master was too much occupied to notice them, and asked no questions. As for James, he was commended by nearly the whole school.

“Is he not a noble, manly fellow,” said Emily Conly, “to bear so much from those mean creatures, while he might at any time have done what he has done to-day?”

“Yes,” said Mary Nevins, “and when at last he did turn upon them, it was not upon his own account, but Albert Whitman’s, and our Arthur and Elmer both say they don’t believe he would have touched them, let them have done what they might to him, if William Morse had not struck Albert.”

“What a different spirit he manifested,” said Emily, “from Morse, who after hiring Witham to stick the awl into James, stayed in at recess to see and enjoy it, but Renfew didn’t stop and look on when the other scholars were punishing George Orcutt, but went right back to his books. Oh, I do like him.” Then feeling she had gone too far, and seeing the rest of the girls begin to titter, she blushed to the roots of her hair, and stopped short.

“Never mind, Emily,” said Jane Gifford; “we all like him; all of the girls are on the side of the redemptioner.”

“My brother Stillman thinks the reason he learns so fast, is because he is so old, and sees the need of it, and makes a business of learning, as a young boy wouldn’t; and not knowing anybody, and being so by himself, has nothing to take off his attention. Still. says if he knew all the boys and girls, and had brothers and sisters, and went with them, to bees and apple-parings, and singing schools, and parties, and spelling schools, he wouldn’t learn half so fast; but now he’ll learn as much and more this winter, than a small boy would in three years,” said Eliza Russell.

The friends of James could hardly contain themselves till school was out. Arthur Nevins had invited Peter, Bertie, the Edibeans, and Ned Conly, to take supper with him, and have a real “howl of triumph,” and had sent Elmer home at recess to tell his mother she would have seven hungry school boys at supper time. After a bountiful supper, they sat down to eat nuts and apples, and to congratulate each other upon the success of all their plans.

“The master,” said Ned Conly, “is going to put James into arithmetic soon.”

“He’s got all the multiplication by heart now,” said Bertie, “and every night after supper, father and grandpa give him sums to do in his head, and he can add, and subtract, and multiply, and divide, and makes handsome figures. When he first came to our house he didn’t know how long a year was, but called four years four times reaping wheat, and couldn’t tell the clock; but now he can tell how many months there are in a year, and how many days in a year, and how many hours in a day, and minutes in an hour, and all about it. I think that’s a good deal for a boy to do in one fall and winter, starting from nothing. He is fast learning to handle tools, too, and can dovetail, and plane and saw and handle a broad axe.”

The first question asked by Bert when he reached home, was,—“Mother, where is James?”

“Gone to bed.”

“And grandfather, too?”

“Yes, James said the whole of his multiplication table, and didn’t miss a figure, and then your father and grandfather gave him sums to do in his head.”

“Did he tell you what happened at school to-day?”

“He didn’t tell us anything.”

“Just like him. Didn’t he tell you there had been a real sisemarara—an eruption, an earthquake—there to-day. Didn’t you see the blood on his shirt collar? Don’t you see that bunch on top of my skull?” displaying a swelling the size of a hen’s egg. “Oh, he’s done it; he’s done it up to the handle.” And Bert went capering about the room, and slapping his sides with his hands.

“Tell us what you mean, if you mean anything, Albert,” said his father, “or else sit down and let Peter.”

“Tell, Pete, tell ‘em regular, and I’ll put in the side windows, the filagree work.”

Peter rehearsed the whole matter to his parents, by virtue of keeping his hand part of the time on Bert’s mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell your father or me what was going on, and ask your father’s advice?”

“Because,” said Peter, “James begged us not to; said he didn’t want to make a disturbance, and the boys would get ashamed of their tricks after a while, and leave off. James said we might tell grandfather if he would promise not to tell, and he did, and so we told him.”

“What did your grandfather say?”

“He had a long talk with James, and told him he had borne enough; to give no offence and take none; but if they continued to insult him, knock ‘em over.”

“Well, I don’t know about such doings; husband, what do you think of it?”

Jonathan Whitman, who had listened all this time without question, replied,—“I think father gave good advice, and James did well to take it.”

There the matter dropped. Morse, Riggs, and Orcutt were so ashamed, and so well convinced that nearly all the members of the school heartily despised them, and that if they made complaint at home the master and scholars would inform their parents of the provocation James had received, that they lied to account for their bruises, and made no complaint at home.

Jonathan Whitman and his next neighbor, Mr. Wood, were great friends, and had been from boyhood, though about as unlike as men could well be, and though, when his boys told him of the doings at school, Mr. Wood fell in with the general verdict of the district, “served them right,” he could but feel a little sore, that his neighbor should be so much more fortunate in his choice of a redemptioner than himself.

The first time they met he could not forbear remarking,—

“Jonathan, they say that you are finding out what’s in your redemptioner pretty fast; that he begins to feel his oats, and is showing a clean pair of heels. How do you like him now, neighbor?”

“Better and better. Old Frank is the best horse I ever had, and a little child might safely crawl between his legs; Bert has done it many a time, but a man would run the risk of his life who should abuse him.”

These apparently untoward events accomplished what nothing else could have done, and which all the efforts of his friends had utterly failed to effect, they broke the crust and shattered the reserve, hitherto impenetrable, that isolated him, and furnished a stimulant that urged him onward in a course of more rapid development.

Before the boys separated on the evening which they spent together at Mr. Nevins’, they were closeted an hour in Arthur’s bedroom. What grave consultations were held, and what profound ideas were originated in their teeming noddles, will probably never be fully known, save that as they parted, Bertie shouted back: “Good night; now we’ve got him a-going, let’s keep him a-going.”