“Ned,” I said, as we reached Mr. Cheyleigh’s gate, “I am so sorry I got you into this trouble.”
“Oh, never mind that,” he replied cheerfully. “I hated it on account of its being my first, but I wasn’t in fault any way, and I wouldn’t tell her now to save her life.”
Ned was human, and could not but feel anger at his undeserved punishment.
We parted, and I hastened home. Anticipating Miss Hester’s narration of the affair, I gave a faithful account of it; taking care to describe our conduct as “having just locked her out for a little fun,” and descanting, in glowing terms, on her cruelty to Ned. Father’s brow darkened, and he shook his head ominously when I had concluded.
“John,” he said at length, and I knew by his tone that he did not see the joke as I did, “this will not do. You are always getting in some school difficulty. I must look into this affair and learn the true state of the case. Go, get your supper and then go to bed. I will see you in the morning.”
I sullenly went into the dining room and partook of the meal, with gloomy forebodings of the morrow, for I knew, from experience, that the “seeing” in the morning meant something more than vision.
I went to my chamber and got to bed, but not to sleep (for it was too soon for that, and I could still hear out doors the sounds of day life and activity); but to ruminate on the injustice of Miss Hester, father and the world generally. I felt that father should have taken my part and not threatened another punishment, when I had already expiated my fault at Miss Hester’s hands. I took a gloomy delight in forgetting all his kindness, and bringing up to memory all his chastisements and reproofs, and I finally came to the conclusion that I was a poor, persecuted little martyr, that nobody cared for me, and that it would be such a sweet revenge to bundle up all my clothes in a handkerchief and run away. I thought how fine it would be to go far away where no one ever heard of our home, and achieve an immense fortune; and when, at last, everybody thought me dead, and father was sufficiently penitent for his cruelty, to return in a gilded chariot, with several dozen white horses, and riding up before our door in great state, inquire if Col. Smith, the father of an exiled child, lived there. The only obstacle to my fugitive project was the lack of somewhere to run to; and as no suitable place presented itself to my mind, I gave up the scheme for the present, always to be renewed, though, when aggrieved, and always to be as far from execution. I persevered, however, in my misanthropic musings till I had rendered myself thoroughly miserable, when my reverie was broken by the entrance of mother, who came and sat down on the edge of my bed. Taking my hand in her soft palm, she said:
“Tell me all about your difficulty, Johnnie. How did it occur?” Turning my face from the wet, warm pillow up to her’s, I gave a full recital of all, throwing in towards the last a few reflections on father’s harsh treatment, as it appeared to me.
“Hush! hush! Johnnie, you must not speak so. I know it seems hard to you, but it was well calculated to provoke your father. This is the fourth or fifth time you have been punished this session, and he knew it would not do to encourage you in such rebellious conduct.”
I remained silent and grum, and mother continued: