“All the boys learn their lessons at Crofton,” observed Hugh.
“Yes; but not by magic. They have to give their minds to their work. You will find it painful and difficult to learn this, after your idle habits at home. I give you warning that you will find it much more difficult than you suppose; and I should not wonder if you wish yourself at home with Miss Harold many times before Christmas.”
Mrs Proctor was not unkind in saying this. She saw that Hugh was so delighted about going that nothing would depress his spirits, and that the chief fear was his being disappointed and unhappy when she should be far away. It might then be some consolation to him to remember that she was aware of what he would have to go through. He now smiled, and said he did not think he should ever wish to say his lessons to Miss Harold as long as he lived. Then it quickly passed through his mind that, instead of the leads and the little yard, there would be the playground; and instead of the church bells, the rooks; and instead of Susan, with her washing and combing, and scolding and kissing, there would be plenty of boys to play with. As he thought of these things, he started up, and toppled head over heels on the grass, and then was up by his mother’s side again, saying that he did not care about anything that was to happen at Crofton;—he was not afraid,—not even of the usher, though Phil could not bear him.
“If you can bring yourself to learn your lessons well,” said his mother, “you need not fear the usher. But remember it depends upon that. You will do well enough in the playground, I have no doubt.”
After this, there was only to settle the time that was to pass—the weeks, days, and hours before Michaelmas-day; and whether these weeks and days should be employed in preparing for Crofton under Miss Harold, or whether he should take his chance there unprepared as he was. Mrs Proctor saw that his habits of inattention were so fixed, and his disgust at lessons in the parlour so strong, that she encouraged his doing no lessons in the interval. Hugh would have said beforehand that three weeks’ liberty to read voyages and travels, and play with Harry, would have made him perfectly happy; but he felt that there was some disgrace mixed up with his holiday, and that everybody would look upon him with a sort of pity, instead of wishing him joy; and this spoiled his pleasure a good deal. When he came home from his walk, Agnes thought he looked less happy than when he went out; and she feared his spirits were down about Crofton.
His spirits were up and down many times during the next three weeks. He thought these weeks would never be over. Every day dragged on more slowly than the last; at every meal he was less inclined to eat; and his happiest time was when going to bed, because he was a day nearer Crofton. His mother, foreseeing just what happened, wished to have kept the news from him till within a week of his departure, and had agreed with Mr Proctor that it should be so. But Mr Proctor hated secrets, and, as we see, let it out immediately.
At last, the day came;—a warm, sunny, autumn day, on which any one might have enjoyed the prospect of a drive into the country. The coach was to set off from an inn in Fleet Street, at noon, and would set Hugh down at his uncle’s door in time for dinner, the distance being twenty-eight miles. His uncle’s house was just two miles from the school. Phil would probably be there to meet his brother, and take him to Crofton in the afternoon.
How to get rid of the hours till noon was the question. Hugh had had everything packed up, over which he had any control, for some days. He had not left himself a plaything of those which he might carry: and it frightened him that his mother did not seem to think of packing his clothes till after breakfast this very morning. When she entered his room for the purpose, he was fidgeting about, saying to himself that he should never be ready. Agnes came with her mother, to help: but before the second shirt was laid in the box, she was in tears and had to go away; for every one in the house was in the habit of hiding tears from Mrs Proctor, who rarely shed them herself, and was known to think that they might generally be suppressed, and should be so.
As Hugh stood beside her, handing stockings and handkerchiefs, to fill up the corners of the box, she spoke as she might not have done if they had not been alone. She said but a few words; but Hugh never forgot them.
“You know, my dear,” said she, “that I do not approve of dwelling upon troubles. You know I never encourage my children to fret about what cannot be helped.”