Holt made no answer. He had nothing to spend in the fair; still less, anything left over. But he remembered that he was out of debt,—that Meredith, would twit him no more,—and he began to whistle, so light-hearted, that no amount of money could have made him happier. He only left off whistling to thank Hugh earnestly for having persuaded him to open his heart to Mr Tooke.
Chapter Thirteen.
Tripping.
When the day came for returning to Crofton, Hugh would have left his crutches behind at his uncle’s, so much did he prefer walking with the little light stick-leg he had been practising with for a fortnight. But his aunt shook her head at this, and ordered the crutches into the gig. He still walked slowly and cautiously, and soon grew tired: and she thought he might find it a relief at times to hop about on his crutches. They were hidden under the bed, however, immediately on his arrival; so anxious was Hugh to make the least of his lameness, and look as like other boys as possible, both for Tooke’s sake and his own. When the boys had been all assembled for one day, and everybody had seen how little Proctor could walk, the subject seemed to be dropped, and nothing was talked of but the new usher. So Hugh said to himself; and he really thought that he had fully taken his place again as a Crofton boy, and that he should be let off all notice of his infirmity henceforth, and all trials from it, except such as no one but himself need know of. He was even not quite sure whether he should not be a gainer by it on the whole. He remembered Tooke’s assurances of protection and friendship; he found Phil very kind and watchful; and Mrs Watson told him privately that he was to be free of the orchard. She showed him the little door through which he might enter at any time, alone, or with one companion. Here he might read, or talk, and get out of sight of play that he could not share. The privilege was to be continued as long as no mischief was done to anything within the orchard. The prospect of the hours, the quiet hours, the bright hours that he should spend here alone with Dale, delighted Hugh: and when he told Dale, Dale liked the prospect too; and they went together, at the earliest opportunity, to survey their new domain, and plan where they would sit in spring, and how they would lie on the grass in summer, and be closer and closer friends for ever.
Holt was encouraged to hope that he should have his turn sometimes; but he saw that, though Hugh cared more for him than before the holidays, he yet loved Dale the best.
While Hugh was still in spirits at the thought that his worst trials were over, and the pleasure of his indulgences to come, he felt very complacent; and he thought he would gratify himself with one more reading of the theme which he had written in the holidays,—the theme which he really believed Mr Tooke might fairly praise,—so great had been the pains he had taken with the composition, and so neatly was it written out. He searched for it in vain among his books and in his portfolio. Then he got leave to go up to his room, and turn over all his clothes. He did so in vain; and at last he remembered that it was far indeed out of his reach,—in the drawer of his aunt’s work-table, where it had lain ever since she had asked him for it, to read to a lady who had visited her.
The themes would certainly be called for the first thing on Mr Tooke’s appearance in school, at nine the next morning. The duties of the early morning would leave no one any time to run to Mr Shaw’s then. If anybody went, it must be now. The first day was one of little regularity; it was only just beginning so grow dusk; any willing boy might be back before supper; and there was no doubt that leave would be given on such an occasion. So Hugh made his way to the playground as fast as possible, and told his trouble to his best friends there,—to Phil, and Holt, and Dale, and as many as happened to be within hearing.
“Never mind your theme!” said Phil. “Nobody expected you to do one; and you have only to say that you left it behind you.”