St. Winifred's; or, The World of School

by F. W. Farrar

The boy’s heart gave one bound of joy as he read this. If he were not expelled he was ready to bear meekly any other punishment appointed to his offence. But his banishment from the school would cause deep affliction to others besides himself, and this was why he had dreaded it with such a feeling of despair.

Alone as he was in the little room, he fell on his knees, and heartily and humbly thanked God for this answer to his earnest, passionate, reiterated prayer; and then he read Kenrick’s note again.

“Paton has begged you off.” He repeated this sentence over and over again, aloud and to himself, and seemed as if he could never realise it. Paton—Paton, the very man whom he had so deeply and irreparably injured—had begged him off, and shielded him from a punishment which no one could have considered too severe for his fault. Young and inexperienced as Walter Evson was, he could not, of course, fully understand and appreciate the amount of the loss, the nature and degree of the injury which he had inflicted; but yet, he could understand that he had done something which caused greater pain to his master than even the breaking of a limb, or falling ill of a severe sickness. And he never prayed for himself without praying also that Mr Paton’s misfortune might in some way be alleviated; and even, impossible as the prayer might seem, that he, Walter, might himself have some share in rendering it more endurable.

It may seem strange that Walter should be apparently excessive in his own self-condemnation. A generous mind usually is; but Walter, it may be urged, never intended to do the harm he had done. If he mistook the packet for a number of exercises the fault was comparatively venial, comparatively—yes; for though it will be admitted that to break open a private desk and throw its contents into the fire is bad enough in a schoolboy under any circumstances, still it would be a far less aggravated sin than the wilful infliction of a heavy damage out of a spirit of revenge. But here lay the gravamen of Walter’s fault; he knew—though he had not said so—in his inmost heart he knew that the packet did not, and could not, consist merely of old exercises, like the outer sheets, which were put to keep it clean. When he threw it into the fire and thrust it down until it blazed away, he felt sure—and at that wicked moment of indulged passion he rejoiced to feel sure—that what he was consuming was of real value. Henderson’s voice awoke in a moment his dormant conscience; but then, however keen were the stings of remorse, what had been done could never be undone. And “Paton had begged him off”! It was all the more wonderful to him, and he was all the more deeply grateful for it, because he knew that, in Mr Paton’s views, the law of punishment for every offence was as a law of iron and adamant—a law as undeviating and beneficial as the law of gravitation itself.

A slow and hesitating footstep—the sound of the key turning in the door—a nervous hand resting on the handle—and Mr Paton stood before him.

In an instant Walter was on his knees beside him, his head bent over his clasped hands. “Oh, sir,” he exclaimed, “please forgive me! I have been longing to see you, sir, to implore you to forgive me; for when you have forgiven me I shan’t mind anything else. Oh, sir, forgive me, if you can.”

“Do you know, Evson, the extent of what you have done?” said Mr Paton, in a constrained voice.

“Oh, sir, indeed I do,” he exclaimed, bursting into tears. “Mr Percival said I had destroyed years and years of hard work, and that I can never, never, never make up for it, or repair it again. Oh, sir, indeed I didn’t know how much mischief I was doing; I was in a wicked passion then, but I would give my right-hand not to have done it now. Oh, sir, can you ever forgive me?” he asked, in a tone of pitiable despair.

“Have you asked God’s forgiveness for your passionate and revengeful spirit, Evson?” said the same constrained voice.

“Oh, sir, I have, and I know God has forgiven me. Indeed I never knew, I never thought before, that I could grow so wicked in a day. Oh, sir, what shall I do to gain your forgiveness; I would do anything, sir,” he said, in a voice thick with sobs; “and if you forgave me, I could be almost happy.”