CHAPTER VI.
OUR NED.
I always feel inclined," began Mr Arnold, "to pity a boy who has no friend or companion to whom he can look up with admiration and love, and whom he regards as quite a hero. It is a good thing ever to have something or some one above us, at whom we can gaze, and after whom we can strive. It should be our aim through life to look up, and not down; men do not climb to great heights by keeping their eyes intently fixed on the ground, but, on the contrary, by looking forward and upward. And no one can say he is in want of a hero to imitate and love, when the greatest hero of all the world is perpetually before him.
"'Our Ned' was my hero, and though some people would have it he was a trifle wild, I never found him so, and certainly, after all these years, cannot bring my mind to think so now. He was the boldest, bravest, kindest, most true-hearted and generous boy, that man, woman, or child ever set eyes on. True, he loved a bit of harmless mischief for the fun of the thing, but was far too noble-spirited to do a mean or cowardly action, and would scorn to take an unjust and bullying advantage over a boy who was weaker or younger than himself. Some boys think they are exhibiting a manliness of character if they tease and torment those who are unable to protect themselves, instead of which they are doing just about as mean a thing as boys can do. What is the use of possessing strength if we exercise it in oppressing others? A true boy, or man, should reserve his strength to protect those who are unable to take care of themselves; and as you go through the world, you will find plenty of that sort.
"I loved our Ned second only to my mother, and I know he loved me in return. We did not express the love we cherished for each other like girls at a boarding-school, by hugging and kissing, and 'dearing' and 'ducking' at every spare moment; no, boys show their love after a different fashion, and kisses with them go for very little, and are considered rather a nuisance than otherwise. If he had a shilling, half of it was mine; I might use his books, pencils, marbles, bat, ball, or, for that matter, anything that was his, and he in his turn was welcome to anything I possessed. If he saw a big boy bullying me, he wasted no words in useless remonstrances, but instead, off with his jacket and fought him at once. You must not think him a quarrelsome boy, who always wanted to be fighting; nothing of the sort, but he cherished a firm conviction—and I don't think he was far wrong—that big, hulking bullies deserved no better treatment than that contained in good, hard, knockdown blows, and these he never hesitated to give, did the occasion warrant it. Of course, he sometimes got the worst of it, but he never minded an atom, not he; he would pick himself up on such occasions, spitting the blood and dirt from his mouth, and cheerily say, as he saw my look of concern: 'All right, Archie, not dead yet; better luck next time!' And his jacket would be on, and he walking by my side as calmly as possible, without once alluding to his wounds and bruises.
"Yes, Ned was a brave fellow. I remember his coming home one afternoon with a fearfully nasty bite in his left arm, some stingy, big brute of a cur had given him, because he would not let it worry a little girl carrying a big basket, whom it was terrifying into convulsions with yelping and snarling, and making sudden and ferocious grabs at her bare little legs. He gave the beast a kick, and it turned and fastened its long yellow-looking teeth in his arm, and almost bit it through. Our mother was in a terrible way, and wanted to have the dog killed, but nobody knew whose it was, or where it had gone. The doctor burned the wound; and although he turned pale, our Ned did not cry out, but stood it, as the doctor admiringly said, 'like a hero.' When it was bandaged up he put on his jacket, saying, 'Well, that's over.' Mother did not appear to think so; she looked troubled and anxious, shook her head doubtfully, and said, 'I am afraid not.' Then brushing back his hair caressingly with her hand, kissing his forehead, and looking into his dark brown, honest, and fearless eyes, added, half chidingly, half admiringly, 'Ned, my boy, though I would not for the world that you should be different from what you are, a brave, true-hearted lad, yet I sadly fear your high spirit will get you into many a trouble.'
"'Never mind the trouble, mamma,' replied our Ned, 'so long as it keeps me from doing a mean or cowardly action.'
"He was very nearly getting into trouble once, however, for interfering between a brutal tramp and his wife. There was no principle our Ned adhered to so firmly, as that no provocation, however great, justified a boy in striking a girl, or a man a woman; he held to this as staunchly as kings to the doctrine of divine right. 'Depend upon it, Archie,' he would say, 'a boy who would strike a girl is a mean-spirited puppy, and a man who would strike a woman is a cowardly cur, and one deserves drowning, and the other hanging! Why, I read that even dogs respect the sex, and no respectable dog would so far forget himself as to attack his female companion. I can't say whether the feminines are quite so particular; I am not so certain on that point, but then you must make every allowance, they have a deal to put up with. No, no, Archie; rest assured there is nothing so mean and cowardly as striking women and girls.'
"Thinking thus, boys, it will not surprise you to learn that 'our Ned' was in continual hot water by making himself the champion of every girl he saw ill-treated. Was some little girl having her hair pulled, or her arms pinched, by a thoughtless or cruel urchin, directly she caught sight of my brother, she ran to him for protection, while her tormentor scuttled away equally fast in an opposite direction, his ears tingling in anticipation of the coming correction. Was a larger and older girl threatened by some ill-natured brother, or brother's chum, she felt herself safe if our Ned made his appearance. In short, he was always ready, at whatever odds, to do battle for the 'weaker sex,' as he jestingly called them. This trait in his character procured for him the name of the 'Young Don Quixote,' and he was as frequently called the 'young Don' as he was by his baptismal name.
"But to return to the tramp. We were walking home one afternoon from school, when, just as we turned a bend in the road, we came close upon a man and woman quarrelling; the man was in the act of striking the woman with a stick as we hove in sight. Our Ned's face flushed up as he saw the man's action, and clenching his hands, he was rushing forward, when I caught him by the jacket, imploring him to stay. He flashed a look, half indignant, half surprised, back at me, exclaiming, 'What, Archie?' and was off. The stick had descended before he reached the scene of contention, but he thrust himself between the victim and her tyrant, who was preparing for a repetition of the blow. 'You big, cowardly brute!' he cried; 'haven't you manhood enough left in you not to strike a woman?'