He gave the Bachelor to the darzi for a pattern, with a strict injunction to be careful of it, as it was his mother’s gift. Said he, “This may come handy sometimes when you need a stitch, or find a button gone, for you should not be obliged always to depend on others.”
Then came the boots, the tennis shoes, the balls and bats, some handsome books, papers, pens, ink, sealing wax, envelopes, etc.
Nothing was omitted that he could think of. A spare room was devoted to this schoolboy outfit, and the articles were laid here and there over the room. Day after day he would say, “Now, Charles, let us go and look the things over,” and in we would go, and after a survey he would say, “Well, I don’t know what else you need!”
This outfitting was quite a recreation for Mr. Percy, and he acted as if he had once been a boy himself and had experienced the same preparations for his going away to school. If one knew in his youth how much happiness he really enjoyed, and could foresee the struggle and hardships to come, he might not be so anxious to become a man. The happiness of youth is mostly due to its unconsciousness of evil. Yet, even older people are like children in this respect, always wishing, longing for what is beyond them and to come.
Soon everything was in readiness, the boxes were packed and the morning of my departure arrived. The last thing was a huge fruitcake and a lot of sweets, “For,” said Mr. Percy, “this is the thing to make quick acquaintance with boys at school.”
A bearer was to go with me to take care of me on the way and return. He took a gari to the station with my luggage, and I went with Mr. Percy in his carriage. He had never preached to me or moralized, but on the way he said, “Now, Charles, I want you to be brave, to study hard, and above all be truthful, honest, upright, and be clean in thought, in word and act.” This was all, but there was so much in those few words, in his manner of saying them, and I knew that he spoke from his heart as he uttered them. Soon we were on the train, and as it moved off he said, “God bless you, my boy,” with a tenderness in his tone, and as I saw, with tears in his eyes. I felt it all, pressed his hand saying, “Thank you, thank you.” I knew that he felt that I was really grateful, yet it seemed to me that I had not shown my appreciation of his kindness as I should have done.
The journey was interesting, especially up the hills, as I had never seen any but level land. The school was reached in the evening, and we were shown into a large hall where there were about forty cots, but only a few boys were there. The bearer left me, to come again in the morning. At the ringing of the bell we boys went into the dining hall. I noticed its barren appearance at once. There was such a contrast between this and the dining room and tables at Mr. Percy’s that I felt homesick. I thought that if the other boys could live through it I could; but it seemed as though I was in an orphanage again, the only difference being that this was for white boys, not for natives, and in the hills. After supper we were ushered into another barren hall, the only ornament being an organ upon which a teacher played while the rest sang something, and then followed what they called prayers. I was too weary to pay much attention. Then to the dormitory to sleep.
I dreamed of Mr. Percy and saw him grasp my hand and heard him say, “God bless you, my boy!” and then I was carried away through the air up into some high mountain and left in a barren, desolate place. The fright awoke me all trembling. I saw that it was morning, the sun shining in our window. How well I remember that room! and would not four long years in it make me remember it forever? I recall it as on that first morning. Four bare walls, a ceiling and floor, with nothing to break the monotony but forty cots standing in rows as straight as the walls, and the square windows. I have often wondered, when pictures are so cheap, that they did not put a few on the walls; when nature outside showed the intention of God to make the world beautiful, that they did not give us a few flowers in cheap earthen pots, if nothing better, to relieve the everlasting squareness and barrenness. Compel a man to live in a hovel like a stable, he may not turn into a horse, but the chances are that he will not be near the man he might have been had his surroundings been such as to develop his sense of beauty. How much more should a boy be educated by his sight and senses, be taught by his daily surroundings?
There was no privacy whatever. I well remember months afterward when out walking with one of the boys, a little timid, refined lad, who told me that before leaving home his mother had made him promise to kneel by his bed every night and say his prayers. “But,” said he, “how can I do it with all the boys looking at me?” I knew nothing about praying myself, but I could feel for a boy who thought he ought to pray and was afraid to do so. A man might be brave in battle, but I think it would require more courage to kneel by his bed and say his prayers before a lot of scoffing men.