At last the old horse dragged the fly listlessly out of the shady street and they came into an open space, which fronted on a broad sheet of water flowing down with a fine sweep to the sea. A long bridge led across Deal Water to a straight white road which cleft a clean path through the rising meadowland. Eastward the wide expanse of green was edged by a line of tawny sands, where the turf swept down to the bluffs. Beyond lay the sea, sparkling like a great splendid jewel. Tony loved the sea, and a thrill went through him as he saw it again now after a long time. A load seemed lifted from his heart, though there was still some wistfulness for the sleepy bayou and the old plantation and the dear familiar faces. He remembered how so many Deerings before him had crossed that great still pond on their way to school, and had known that restless sea during happy boyhood.
“Is that the school?” he cried to the driver, springing up as he caught sight of a pile of buildings which crowned a hill-top at the end of the long white road ahead of them. There seemed to be a great many of these buildings, standing shoulder to shoulder, long and low for the most part, but one higher than the rest, marked by a tapering spire. The rays of the morning sun glinted on the windows so that they seemed ablaze with light. A fresh breeze was blowing off the ocean. There was the smell of seaweed in the air and of herby autumnal flowers. Here and there a field was stained literally purple with Michaelmas daisies,—a vivid contrast to the deep green of the meadows.
Tony could scarcely contain himself as the fly crawled up the steep road. Then, just as they reached the summit, a few paces before they turned into the school drive, another splendid view opened to them unexpectedly. On the other side of the school grounds the hill descended much more precipitously toward a point of rocky land which jutted into the sea; to the east the land bent with an enormous curve, embracing a wide beach about a mile in length; then, turning sharply again, rose into hilly land, thickly wooded, rocky-shored, which crowded about the great inlet, somewhat misnamed the Strathsey River. Across the morning haze gleamed the shores of a broad peninsula known as Strathsey Neck. In the midst of the river,—or bay, for it was really that,—a pile of rocks jutted from the waters, on which was situate a lighthouse, marked in the charts as Deigr Light.
Tony was a little bewildered by the unexpected impelling beauty of the situation. The cab turned into the school driveway then, and at the end of a graveled elm-shaded avenue, he saw a low long building of gray stone—of Tudor architecture, he learned afterwards—approached by a broad flight of stone steps.
A maid-servant met him at the door, surmised that he was the new boy, and said, “I will show you at once to the Doctor’s study.” They passed through a large hall, which Tony just could see was attractive, with its black oak paneling and the great open fireplace at the farther end, and then he was ushered into a cheerful pleasant-looking room, his hand was heartily clasped, and a gruff kindly voice bade him welcome.
Tony looked up, and saw a pair of sharp blue eyes, set deep under shaggy gray brows in a firm strongly-lined face, under a mass of thick gray hair, looking enquiringly into his. It was a kindly, inquisitive glance, as though their owner were wondering what manner of boy this was. Doctor Forester was growing old now, but he was still in the prime of his activity as a vigorous and effective head master. He looked down upon the fair copper-colored head of the boy, and into his frank gray-blue eyes, which looked back fearlessly.
“Ah, Deering, I am glad to see you. I am sorry you are late, however, for it is not the best way to begin,” he said, speaking with a sharp accent, and in quick phrases, which Tony was to learn were characteristic.
“I know, sir, but my grandfather—”
“Your grandfather, my boy, used to get caned once a week by old Doctor Harvey for the same incorrigible offense. But I understand the situation. You are not to blame. You are to have a room in Standerland Hall and sit at Mr. Morris’s table in the dining-room. Stop here a moment, while I send for a boy to show you about. Then you can get your books, and go into class the last morning period. We are going to try you in the Third. The master-in-charge will assign you a seat in the schoolroom.” The doctor touched a bell on his desk. “Send Lawrence to me, please,” he said to the servant who answered it; and then turning to Deering again, “Well, my boy, how is your grandfather? Has he told you that we were at Kingsbridge together? He was a senior when I was a freshman. He rescued me one night at a hazing-bee. Those were good old days—never the like of them again! I am glad they are sending you north to school and college. Ah, Lawrence! come in, come in. Lawrence, this is Anthony Deering. He is to be in your form and hall. Take him about a bit—that’s a good fellow—introduce him to the masters—and report to Mr. Morris before the last period. Good-bye now. Come to the Rectory to tea this afternoon, Deering, and we can have some talk about the General.”
The Doctor said all this very rapidly, and almost before Deering and Lawrence had finished their embarrassed greeting, he had turned to his desks and was busy with his papers.