Unfurl the Christian standard!
Lift it manfully on high!
And rally where its shining folds
Wave out against the sky!
SATURDAY afternoons were seasons of special delight at Knowlton School, as at many another; for then the boys were free, under certain regulations, to do as they liked, and almost entirely without the supervision of the tutors—Dr. Bowles holding the opinion that boys put on their honour, and really trusted, were less likely to break rules than those who were watched too closely. So no boy was called on to give an account of the manner in which the day was spent after one o'clock, if they were only inside the gates at a specified hour.
One thing, however, was forbidden. Within a walking distance of Knowlton there ran a bright, sparkling river, shaded in many places by trees, which afforded a pleasant shelter in summer days. Whilst the river itself in some parts was known to be well stocked with trout—a temptation of no small kind to the boys. In former years Dr. Bowles had obtained leave for some of his older scholars to fish in it occasionally; but of late the permission to do so had been withdrawn, and so the doctor found he had to make a stringent law on the matter, and every boy knew that transgression of it would meet with summary and severe punishment. Some of the boys still grumbled about it; but really they had not much reason to do so, for what with cricket and games of all sorts, pleasant strolls through the wood not very far distant, or visits to the metropolis itself every now and then with Dr. or Mrs. Bowles, they had plenty of pleasant ways of passing their Saturday afternoons.
It is on a bright June Saturday that we again take a peep at Ronald Macintosh. He is sitting with one of his old dreamy looks, half gazing out of the window, half looking at the clouds as they skim along. He is alone; and though his lips are silent, we take the privilege of putting his thoughts into words:
"'Thou hast given a banner to them that fear Thee, that it may be displayed,'" he was saying in his heart. "'Displayed,'—but surely that does not mean we must tell everything we do? Now, I do want to go and see that old sick woman I found out two or three weeks ago. She said my reading to her comforted her. But then the boys have begun to wonder where I go and what I do. Surely I am not ashamed to tell? Still, it is no business of theirs; and if I did, it would look as if I wanted to boast of doing it. It can't be wrong to be quiet about it. Of course, when they know, there are several will laugh and call me names; and I do not like that. Perhaps it is cowardice keeps me from telling—I don't know. 'Thou bast given a banner to them that fear Thee, that it may be displayed because of truth.' But this has nothing to do with truth; and it is the Captain who has said, 'Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.'"
Here came a pause, followed by the resolution: "No, I will not say a word about it unless Dr. Bowles asks me, which is not a likely thing. And I must try to go to-day, for when I missed a Saturday lately, poor old Susan said she was wearying for my coming all that day; and I'll be back in time enough for a game at cricket afterwards."
So saying, he rose and began to prepare to go out. Ronald had a good name at the school, where he had now been for some months. He was a favourite with the masters, who marked his diligence at lessons and love of books; and was liked also by most of the boys from his obliging disposition and his prowess at all sorts of outdoor sports. True, there were some amongst them who sneered at what they called his religious notions, fit only for priests or women; but even in that respect his frank, truthful, consistent character, silenced in time those who opposed him, and won from them the testimony that at least Macintosh's goodness did not make him stuck up.
Very faithfully, notwithstanding, had Ronald held up the banner; and several of the younger boys, especially little James Dudley, knew that it was by his words and example that they were saved from the bullying of some of the elder ones. Only two boys regarded Ronald with dislike; and these were the very leaders of all mischief—Tom Pritchard and George Dundas. It was they who invented the funny names for him, as they termed them; such as "Peter the Hermit," "Praying Aldy," "John Knox," and many others. At first the others had joined in the laugh which these names elicited; but by degrees the larger number ceased to see fun in tormenting a fellow, as they said, who was ever ready with a kind word and action. If he liked to pray, where was the harm? It would not be a bad plan if some more of them copied his example. And so, on the whole, Ronald's days at school passed pleasantly.
Just as he was starting to go out, on the Saturday we are writing of, Dr. Bowles accosted him: "Macintosh," he said, "Mrs. Bowles and I are going to London, and if you would like to accompany us, you can come also."
Ronald's first impulse was to say, "Thank you, sir; I should like so much to go;" but as the words rose to his lips, the remembrance of the old woman, and her disappointment at his non-appearance on the Saturday he had missed, made him hesitate, and with an air of embarrassment, he said, "Many thanks, sir; but I am afraid I can't go to town this afternoon; I—" Here he hesitated.