“It would be comfortable if we poor moderns could deal out our measures with that straightforward military simplicity. I cannot help seeing in that unfortunate boy the victim of examinations for commissions. Boys must be subjected to high pressure before they can thoroughly enter into the importance of the issues that depend upon it; and when a sluggish, dull intellect is forced beyond endurance, there is an absolute instinct of escape, impelling to shifts and underhand ways of eluding work. Of course the wrong is great, but the responsibility rests with the taskmaster in the same manner as the thefts of a starved slave might on his owner.”
“The taskmaster being the country?”
“Exactly so. Happy those boys who have available brains, like yours.”
“Ah! I am very sorry about Bobus; what ought I to do?”
“Hardly more than write a few words of warning, since the change may probably have put an end to the practice.”
Jock presently brought back tidings that his namesake was all right, except for a black eye, and was growling like ten bears at having been sent to bed.
“Uncle Robert was more angry than ever, in a white heat, quiet and terrible,” said Jock, in an awe-struck voice. “He has locked Rob up in his study, and here’s Joe, for Aunt Ellen is quite knocked up, and they want the house to be very quiet.”
No tragical consequences, however, ensued. Mother and sons both appeared the next morning, and were reported as “all right” by the first inquirer from the Folly; but Jessie came to her lessons with swollen eyelids as if she had cried half the night; and when her aunt thanked her for defending Armine, she began to cry again, and Essie imparted to Barbara that Rob was “just like a downright savage with her.”
“No; hush, Essie, it is not that,” said Jessie; “but papa is so dreadfully angry with him, and he is to be sent away, and it is all my fault.”
“But Jessie, dear, surely it is better for Rob to be stopped from those deceitful ways.”