He worshipped Fay for her gentle ways; he loved nothing better than to be with Phoena, and listen to her quaint old stories, and he thoroughly enjoyed a game with Marygold; but he was so afraid of being called unmanly by the boys, that he scarcely dared have anything to do with the girls, though he was constantly on the look-out to render them a service.
Both for Jack and Phil, Gaston’s admiration was unbounded; he would accept all their knocking about as a distinct honour coming from their hands; nor did he, as a rule, resent what Hubert did, or said. But as for Andrew, he hated him.
But this was not due to the old ogre episode—that was long ago forgiven. Gaston’s detestation of Andrew, and the resentment he nourished against him, had a deeper root.
Towards the others he had the cordial feelings that a generous boy has for those whom he knows to be manlier than himself, and was learning to take their chaff, as it was meant; but for Andrew, with his selfishness, his sneaking tricks, and his bragging, which was such a poor disguise for his natural timidity, Gaston had the greatest contempt. To be made an object of ridicule by, or before Andrew, was real torture to Gaston, so true is it, that to be humiliated before those who we despise is about the sharpest form of suffering of which we are capable. To be jeered by Phil or Jack for want of pluck in tree-climbing, or for his “butter-fingers” in letting a ball slip at cricket, was sometimes a little trying to Gaston’s naturally quick temper, but when Andrew ventured to taunt him in like manner, or called him “Mamselle Gaston” when he ran away from a cow (which they all knew that Andrew would never have faced himself), then Gaston’s spirit was sore, with a bitterness beyond all description.
At last, Andrew’s mere presence grew to be antagonistic to Gaston, so that no expedition or undertaking of any sort was likely to be a success, so far as he was concerned, if Andrew was of the party.
It was because Andrew was standing by, so ready to jeer, that Gaston had lost his temper, on the morning on which our chapter opens, when he brought his own share in that day’s proceedings to a tragical conclusion.
Though Hubert was generally sweet temper itself, he it was who began the disturbance. Andrew had ordered him to carry his bat and stumps to the common, just when Hubert wanted to stay in the orchard, and play at boar-hunting with Gaston and Marygold. So the order to accompany the elder boys to the cricket ground was very unwelcome.
“You can carry Andrew’s things to-day,” Hubert said to Gaston.
“No,” said the latter, who had no mind to serve Andrew, “you are the valet of Andrew, I not.”
“You’d have to carry them if Andrew chose to make you,” said Hubert, incensed at Gaston’s refusal, “yes, you would, Mamselle Gaston.”