Mrs Watson desired Phil to show his brother where he was to sleep, and to help him to put by his clothes. Phil was in a hurry to get to his Sallust; so that he was not sorry when Mrs Watson herself came up to see that the boy’s clothes were laid properly in the deep drawer in which Hugh was to keep his things. Phil then slipped away.
“Dear me!” said Mrs Watson, turning over one of Hugh’s new collars, “we must have something different from this. These collars tied with a black ribbon are never tidy. They are always over one shoulder or the other.”
“My sisters made them; and they worked so hard to get them done!” said Hugh.
“Very well—very right: only it is a pity they are not of a better make. Every Sunday at church, I shall see your collar awry—and every time you go to your aunt’s, she will think we do not make you neat. I must see about that. Here are good stockings, however—properly stout. My dear, are these all the shoes you have got?”
“I have a pair on.”
“Of course; I don’t doubt that. We must have you measured to-morrow for some boots fitter for the country than these. We have no London pavement here.”
And so Mrs Watson went on, sometimes approving and sometimes criticising, till Hugh did not know whether to cry or to be angry. After all the pains his mother and sisters had taken about his things, they were to be found fault with in this way!
When his box was emptied, and his drawer filled, Mrs Watson took him into the school-room, where the boys were at supper. Outside the door the buzz seemed prodigious, and Hugh hoped that, in such a bustle, nobody would notice him. Here he was quite mistaken. The moment he entered there was a hush, and all eyes were turned upon him, except his brother’s. Phil hardly looked up from his book; but he made room for Hugh between himself and another boy, and drew the great plate of bread within reach. Mrs Watson saw that Hugh had his basin of milk; and he found it a good thing to have something to do while so many eyes were upon him. He felt that he might have cried if he had not had his supper to eat.
The usher sat at the top of the table, reading. Mrs Watson called his attention to Hugh; and Hugh stood up and made his bow. His face was red, as much with anger as timidity, when he recognised in him the passenger who had sat beside the coachman.
“Perhaps, Mr Carnaby,” said Mrs Watson, “you will find something for this young gentleman to do, when he has had his supper, while the rest are learning their lessons. To-morrow he will have his own lessons; but to-night—”