This threat started Philip, and grumbling to himself he hurried into the study.
When he entered he saw a boy of his own age, who was now standing up studying with great interest a large map of the United States which hung against the wall, a plain, good-natured looking man, and the doctor, who was handing him a letter.
“Philip,” said the doctor, with a very solemn face, “I am sorry to tell you that my letter from your father informs me that you must leave school immediately: not to go home,” he added, for he saw the boy’s face brightening. “Your father and mother have just left the country on important business; where they have gone is to be kept a secret; and now, as you are determined not to learn—as you have made up your mind to grow up an ignorant, useless creature—your father has bound you apprentice to this worthy farmer, whose son takes your place here. If the good man is pleased with you, he is to give you a small weekly allowance; but I warn you beforehand, he will put up with none of your lazy habits; and if he finds that you will not obey him, why then”—here the doctor lowered his voice—“he has in his stable a horse-whip, which will wake you up better than my ferule.”
Philip stood perfectly petrified at this sudden and most dreadful disclosure. His knees shook—he dropped his letter—his teeth chattered; and when the farmer, at a sign from the doctor, approached him with, “Come, my little man, go and get ready; my time is money to me,” poor Philip sprawled down on his knees, crying—
“No! no! I don’t want to go! Oh, Dr. Gradus, pray let me stay here! I will study! I will; indeed I will! I will sit up all night and construe my Latin, and work out those awful logarithms which nearly crack my head to understand. I’ll never say again I can’t bear the sight of figures. Oh, I shall go distracted! Oh! oh! oh!”
“No doubt you think you will learn now, but by to-morrow you will have forgotten all these fine promises”—and the doctor gave the farmer another sign, who grinned understandingly; then, bringing his great fist down upon the table, and making some glass retorts and all the books bounce, cried in a gruff voice—
“Come, sir, this won’t answer; neither I nor my horses can stand here doing nothing. Make your bow to the master, and come along.”
Philip struggled, and kicked, and tumbled about, looking as if he was all legs and arms—not a very graceful figure, you may believe; and he cried and screamed, “Let me go-o-o! let me go-o-o!” as the farmer dragged him all the way down stairs, and out of the house. Yes, he screamed louder than ever out of the house, in hopes of attracting some attention from his school-fellows to his sad fate; but not a single boy ran to see who was making such a dismal howling; they were all now in class.
When he was safely stowed away in the wagon, amidst the empty corn-sacks, the servant brought out his trunk of clothes which the doctor had ordered her to pack, and the letter which the now sobbing boy had dropped in the study; then she went back for a moment and returned with some school-books fastened together by a leather strap; and seeing how much Philip appeared to be suffering, she forgot how many times he had thrown her dust-cloth out of the window, and sent her broom and dust-pan flying after it; her heart melted, and she said kindly—