Before Phil returned, it struck Hugh that he had been very selfish; and that it was not a good way of bearing his trial to impose on any one a walk of four miles, to repair a piece of carelessness of his own. Nobody blamed him; but he did not like to look in the faces round him, to see what people thought. When Phil returned, fresh and hungry from the frosty air, and threw down the paper, saying,—
“There is your theme, and my aunt is very sorry,” Hugh said,—
“Oh! Phil, and I am so sorry too! I hope you are not very tired.”
“Never mind!” replied Phil. “There is your theme.”
And with this Hugh was obliged to be satisfied; but it left him exceedingly uncomfortable—sorry for Phil—disappointed in Dale—and much more disappointed in himself. The thought of what Holt had wished to do was the only pleasant part of it; and Hugh worked beside Holt, and talked with him all the evening.
Hugh felt, the next morning, as if he was never to have any pleasure from his themes, though they were the lesson he did best. This one was praised, quite as much as the former one: and he did not this time tell anybody what Mr Tooke had said about it: but the pleasure was spoiled by the recollection that his brother had run four miles on account of it, and that he himself must have appeared to others more selfish than he thought them. He burned his theme, that he might the more easily forget all about it; and the moment after he had done so, Phil said he should have kept it, as other boys did theirs, for his parents to see.
Mr Crabbe was just such a master as it was good for the little boys to be under. He did not punish capriciously, nor terrify them by anything worse than his strictness. Very strict he was; and he thus caused them some fear every day: for Holt was backward, and not very clever: and Hugh was still much less able to learn than most other boys. But all felt that Mr Crabbe was not unreasonable, and they always knew exactly how much to be afraid of. Whether he had inquired, or been told, the story of Hugh’s lameness, they did not know. He said nothing about it, except just asking Hugh whether it tired him to stand up in class, saying that he might sit at the top or bottom of the class, instead of taking places, if he chose. Hugh did find it rather fatiguing at first: but he did not like to take advantage of Mr Crabbe’s offer, because it so happened that he was almost always at the bottom of his classes: and to have withdrawn from the contest would have looked like a trick to hide the shame, and might have caused him to be set down as a dunce who never could rise. He thanked Mr Crabbe, and said that if he should rise in his classes, and keep a good place for some time, he thought he should be glad to sit, instead of standing; but meantime he had rather be tired. Then the feeling of fatigue went off before he rose, or saw any chance of rising.
This inability to do his lessons so well as other boys was a deep and lasting grief to Hugh. Though he had in reality improved much since he came to Crofton, and was now and then cheered by some proof of this, his general inferiority in this respect was such as to mortify him every day of his life, and sometimes to throw him almost into despair. He saw that everybody pitied him for the loss of his foot, but not for this other trouble, while he felt this to be rather the worst of the two; and all the more because he was not sure himself whether or not he could help it, as every one else seemed certain that he might. When he said his prayer in his bed, he earnestly entreated that he might be able to bear the one trouble, and be delivered from the other; and when, as the spring came on, he was found by one friend or another lying on the grass with his face hidden, he was often praying with tears for help in doing this duty, when he was thought to be grieving that he could not play at leaping or foot-ball, like other boys. And yet, the very next evening, when the whole school were busy over their books, and there was nothing to interfere with his work, he would pore over his lesson without taking in half the sense, while his fancy was straying everywhere but where it ought;—perhaps to little Harry, or the Temple Gardens at home, or to Cape Horn, or Japan—some way farther off still. It did not often happen now, as formerly, that he forgot before morning a lesson well learned over-night. He was aware that now everything depended on whether he was once sure of his lesson; but the difficulty was in once being sure of it.
Finding Phil’s kindness continue through the first weeks and months of the half-year, Hugh took courage at last to open his mind pretty freely to his brother, offering to do anything in the world for Phil, if he would only hear him his lessons every evening till he could say them perfect. Phil was going to plead that he had no time, when Hugh popped out—
“The thing is that it does not help me to say them to just anybody. Saying them to somebody that I am afraid of is what I want.”