Chapter Nine.
Ruby Grigg.
Horace Jackson had come to take a deep interest in the inhabitants of Bridgepath, especially since his engagement; for Mary Stansfield’s heart was thoroughly in her work in that once benighted place, and she was only too glad to lead one now so dear to her to concern himself in the truest welfare of those in Bridgepath who were still living without thought of any world but this.
Things had indeed greatly improved through the diligent and loving exertions of the excellent schoolmaster, who was evidently determined to tread down all opposition that came in his way by the firm and weighty, though gentle, steps of a steady and consistent Christian walk. His task, it is true, was no easy one, for parents and scholars seemed for a time to be in league against all endeavours on his part to remove existing abuses. It was all very right, they allowed, that he should teach the children head-knowledge—this they were content to put up with; but as for his influencing the heart, or inducing them to change their conduct, and thereby to give up the pleasures of sin in which they had so long delighted, this was not to be tolerated; they were determined not to submit to it. And so the boys, when they could no longer carry on their encounters and settle their differences with the fist after school without interruption and remonstrance from the master, revenged themselves for this interference with their privileges by a thousand little sly tricks and bits of mischief at his expense, and with the full approbation, or, at any rate, connivance, of their friends.
As for the grown-up people generally, they gave the good master and his loving wife to understand, when they paid friendly visits to the parents of the scholars, that the inhabitants of the hamlet could do just as well if left to themselves; that they were too old now to go to school; and as for the master’s religious teaching, they had already quite as much religion amongst them as was necessary for their comfort and well-being: in fact, the schoolmaster and his wife would best consult their own interests and the peace of the place by being keepers at home and looking after their own household out of school hours.
Nor was this all. The good man having, in one of his Sunday evening addresses in the schoolroom, spoken some very plain though kindly words against sinful courses too prevalent in Bridgepath, an assault was made on his little garden one night during the following week, so that when he looked over his flower-beds next morning he found them all trampled over, his rose-trees cut down, and the flower roots torn up and thrown about in all directions.
As he rose from the examination of what remained of a favourite tree, his eyes encountered those of one of his most determined opponents in the village. The man was staring over the wall, and when his eyes met those of the schoolmaster, he inquired with a grin how his roses were getting on. With a slight flush on his face, but yet with a smile on his lips, the master replied very slowly, “I shall have to kill some of you for this.” Before the evening this little sentence had been reported in every house in Bridgepath.
“So you’re a-going to kill some of us, master. I thought you was one of them peaceable Christians,” sneered a man to the schoolmaster as he was passing by the door of one of the beer-shops, before which a number of men were assembled with their pipes and pots. There was a general scornful laugh at this speech. Nothing dismayed, however, the schoolmaster stood still, and facing his opponent, said, “Yes, I said I would kill some of you, and I mean it; and if you will come up to the schoolroom to-night at eight o’clock, I will tell you all how and why.”
“Let’s go and hear him,” said one of the drinkers. “Ay, let us,” said another.
By eight o’clock the schoolroom was half filled with men, women, and children. The master was standing at his desk ready to receive them, and when the school clock had struck the hour, began as follows:—