“My hero then, this time, did not look much like one at the time when he displayed his heroism. He was a poor schoolboy, a Christ’s Hospital lad.”
“What! one of those who go about without hats, in long coats and yellow stockings?”
“Yes, the same. Charles Lamb, who tells the story, which is a true one, was himself one of these Bluecoat boys. Among his schoolfellows was this boy, my present moral hero. He was dull and taciturn, and no favourite with the other lads; but no one could bring any charge of improper conduct against him. There was one thing, however, about him which none of the other boys could understand. He always lingered behind all the rest after dinner was over, and came out of the dining-hall hiding something under his dress, and looking about him suspiciously. What did it mean? Had he an unnaturally large appetite, so that he was led by it to steal food and eat it by himself after the meal was over? At any rate, if it was so, his extra provision did not improve his personal appearance, for he was still thin and hungry-looking.
“Some questioned him roughly on the subject, but they could get nothing out of him. He stopped for a while the practice which had drawn attention to him, but resumed it again when he thought that curiosity had died out, and that he could follow his old ways unobserved. But there were boys on the watch, and at last it was fairly ascertained that the poor lad used to gather, as far as he had opportunity, scraps of meat, pieces of fat, and fragments of bread and potatoes, which had been left on the boys’ plates. These he collected and carried off. But then, what did he do with them? It was not likely that he ate them. No. Then he must sell them when he went home, for his parents lived in London, and he was a day boy. No doubt he disposed of them to people who were ready to give a few pence for refuse food, and thus the little miser was making money in this mean and underhand way. When this conclusion had been arrived at, the whole school was in a state of boiling indignation against the culprit.
“They might have taken the law into their own hands, and have punished him in their own rough and ready way. But no; his conduct was too shameful for that. It was looked upon as a serious disgrace to the whole school. So the case was duly reported to the masters, and by them to the governors. Witnesses were examined, and the offence proved. And now, what was the defence of the poor lad? He had borne shame, scorn, reproach, reviling; he had borne them all patiently, without murmur, without resentment. What, then, was the reason for his strange conduct? what motive or inducement could make him thus brave the scorn and contempt, the daily jeers, and the cut direct from his schoolfellows? All was soon made plain. This boy’s parents were old and very poor—so poor, helpless, and friendless that they were often brought to the verge of starvation. In those days, remember, there was not the same attention paid to the poor of all classes, nor loving provision made for their wants, as there is now. So the noble son—for truly noble he was—submitted cheerfully to every trouble and shame that could fall upon himself, in order to get food from time to time for his almost famishing parents. They were too respectable to beg, and would have never allowed their boy to beg for them; and yet so destitute were they that they were even glad of those miserable scraps, the after-dinner leavings on the boys’ plates. And these their son gathered for them, indifferent to the consequences which might happen to himself, while at the same time he added a portion of his own daily food to supply the wants of the old people.
“Ah! this was true moral courage, dear Walter; and it was all the greater and nobler because it was exercised in such humble elements, as it were—I mean under circumstances where there was everything to degrade and nothing to elevate the poor boy in the eyes of his schoolfellows.”
“I see, aunt,” said Walter, sadly and thoughtfully. “Yes, they called him mean, and shabby, and selfish, and frowned and scowled at him, when all the while he was most nobly denying himself, and bearing all that trouble that he might help those who were dearer to him than his good name with his schoolfellows. Ay, I see it all; and it’s just a case in point. That’s just what I’ve been doing to my own dear noble brother, who has been sacrificing himself that he might help poor Julia and her little ones. And it has been worse in my case, because those Bluecoat boys had perhaps no particular reason to think well of the other chap before they found out what he had been driving at, and so it was natural enough that they should suspect him. But it’s been exactly the reverse with me. I’ve had no reason to suspect Amos of anything but goodness. All the baseness and meanness have been on my own part; and yet here I’ve been judging him, and thinking the worst of him, and behaving myself like a regular African gorilla to him.—Dear Amos, can you really forgive me?”
Hands were clasped tightly across Miss Huntingdon’s lap, and then Amos asked, “And what was done to the poor boy?”
“Oh,” replied his aunt, “the governors of course acquitted him of all blame, and not only so, but rewarded him also, and, if I remember rightly, proper provision was made for the poor parents of the noble lad.”
“Bravo! that’s right,” cried Walter with a sigh of relief. “Well, I don’t like making big promises, but I do think I mean it when I say that Amos shall not have an ungenerous or reproachful word from me again.”