Bert Lloyd's Boyhood: A Story from Nova Scotia

by J. Macdonald Oxley

As Mr. Lloyd disappeared through the door, the air of geniality the doctor had been wearing during the brief interview vanished from his countenance, and it relapsed into its wonted look of resigned severity.

"Lloyd and Bowser, come with me to my desk," said he, turning his back upon them, and walking down the room. The boys followed very meekly, and on arriving at the desk the doctor entered their names in a huge book that lay open before him, using an old-fashioned quill pen that scratched so harshly as to send a shudder through Bert, who was very sensitive to such things.

"We will now see about seats for you both," continued the doctor. Then, raising his voice, he called out, "Mr. Snelling, will you please come here," and from the far end of the room a respectful voice responded "Yes, sir."

Looking in the direction whence the voice came, Bert saw an odd-looking man approaching, who, of course, was Mr. Snelling. He was of medium height, but quite as slight as the doctor himself. Many years at the schoolmaster's desk had given a stoop to his shoulders and a pallor to his face, that were in marked contrast to his chief's erect figure and swarthy countenance. But if his face was pale, his hair made a brave attempt to atone for this lack of colour, for it was the richest, most uncompromising red; and as though he delighted in its warm tints, Mr. Snelling allowed it to grow in uncropped abundance, and his favourite gesture was to thrust his fingers through its tangled mass. Beneath a white and narrow forehead were two small sharp eyes, that peered out keenly through a pair of gold-bowed spectacles, and were ever on the watch to detect the slightest misbehaviour among the urchins gathered around him.

Bert's first impression of Mr. Snelling was not a favourable one, and as he stood by and heard Dr. Johnston say: "Mr. Snelling, here are two more pupils. This is Lloyd, and this is Bowser. They will go into your room for the present. Will you please see that desks are assigned them?"—he thought to himself that in spite of the doctor's grim appearance he would rather stay in his room than be handed over to Mr. Snelling.

However, he was not to be consulted in the matter, so he followed in the wake of Mr. Snelling, who, by the way, it should be explained, was the assistant master, having special charge of all the younger scholars, and the drilling of them in the English branches of learning. The classics and mathematics the doctor reserved for himself, and a better teacher of the former particularly there was not in all Halifax.

Mr. Snelling's portion of the room differed from the doctor's only in that it was not so well lighted and the seats were not quite so comfortable. The school being pretty full at the time, the securing of seats for the two new-comers required some rearranging, in the course of which changes had to be made that evidently did not by any means meet with the approbation of those who were immediately concerned; and Bert's spirits, already at a low ebb, were not much elevated by sundry scowling looks directed at him, and by one red-faced, irritable-looking chap seizing the opportunity when Mr. Snelling's back was turned to shake his fist at Bert and Frank, and mutter loudly enough for them to hear:

"I'll punch the heads of you both at recess, see if I don't."

At length, with some little difficulty, Mr. Snelling got matters arranged, and the two boys were placed in the farthest corner of the room, and, to their profound delight, side by side. Their accommodations were the reverse of luxurious. A wooden bench, destitute of back, and shiny from the friction of dear knows how many restless sitters; a sloping desk, cut and carved by careless knives, and having underneath an open shelf upon which the books, slate, cap, and lunch might be put—that was the sum total. Yet, after all, what more do schoolboys really need, or can be safely intrusted with?

Feeling very strange and nervous, Bert and Frank took their seats, and slipping their caps under the desk—they were both wearing that serviceable form of headgear known as the Glengarry—they did their best to seem composed, and to take in their surroundings. The gaunt, unlovely room was soon inspected, and from it they turned their attention to its occupants. Mr. Snelling has already been described. To the left of his desk, and extending row upon row, one behind the other, were desks filled with boys of different ages and sizes. In front of him was an open space, in which the classes stood when reciting lessons to him, and across this space was another line of desks placed close to the wall, which were assigned to the oldest boys in the room.