THERE was one boy in the academy who still caused Marcus no little anxiety. His name was Harrison Clark, and he was about fourteen years old, and large for his age. This was his first term at the academy. He was from an adjoining town, and but little was known of him, except what he himself chose to divulge. The achievement of his short life upon which he seemed to pride himself most, was a fight he had with his former teacher, a month or two before this, in which, according to his representation, he came off victor; and he had been heard to threaten a similar infliction upon Marcus, should that personage attempt to chastise him. One or two of the elder pupils were anxious that the insolence of this pert young gentleman should be checked by a sound thrashing, and they even intimated to the teacher that aid would not be wanting, in case the boy should offer serious resistance. But Marcus thought there was a more excellent way to subdue him, and determined to try it, before resorting to harsh measures.
Marcus happened one day to fall in with a townsman of Harrison, from whom he gathered all the information he could in regard to the career and character of the boy. It appeared that he had been governed with severity, both at home and at school, so far as he had been governed at all. He had steadily grown worse, however, under this discipline, and his parents, finding they could do nothing with him, had sent him away to school, as the easiest way to rid themselves of a constant trouble. They were finally led to this course, by his altercation with his teacher. Several boys, it seemed, got into a wild frolic in the school-room, one day, before the opening of the session, in the course of which Harrison threw an inkstand at another lad, by which his face and clothes were stained, and the walls, floor, and seats soiled. The teacher, after investigating the matter, ordered Harrison to hold out his hand for punishment, which he refused to do, in an insolent manner. The teacher then attempted to seize his hand, but failing in this, he tripped the boy upon the floor, and a regular scuffle ensued. Another boy, still larger than Harrison, now rushed to the assistance of the latter, and before the disgraceful affray ended, they inflicted two or three serious blows upon the teacher, and then fled. They were both arrested for assault, and after a trial before a justice, were fined, Harrison ten dollars and the other boy five, besides the cost of the trial, which was divided between them. While it must be confessed that their punishment was just, I think few will deny that the teacher also was to be blamed for the part he acted in the affray.
“Now can’t you tell me something good about Harrison?” inquired Marcus, after listening to the foregoing recital. “I believe there is always some good trait in every person, however bad.”
“Well,” replied the other, “I’m thinking it would be rather hard to find anything very good about that chap. I don’t think he’s very hardened yet, but there’s precious little goodness about him, I can tell you. He thinks a good deal of his mother, and that’s the best thing I ever saw about him. And he ought to like her, for she’s a right down good woman—only she’s one of your easy, gentle sort, that oughtn’t to have anything to do with such a young scapegrace as he is.”
Although Harrison had made himself sufficiently troublesome in the school-room, he had thus far avoided all flagrant offences. He manifested his disposition by an air of quiet insolence and defiance, and by petty acts of annoyance, too trivial for serious notice, even could they be proved against him, which was seldom the case. It was evident, however, that he was becoming emboldened by the absence of restraints and punishments with which he had been familiar in school, and Marcus looked forward with some solicitude to the certainty of an open collision with him, which day by day seemed more imminent. Meanwhile, the attempts of Marcus to win him over by kindness were not very well rewarded. If he spoke kindly to the boy on the play-ground or at his desk, he got no pleasant word or grateful look, in return. If he tried to draw him into conversation, the responses came grudgingly in monosyllables. On Saturday, he invited Harrison to come over to pass the afternoon with him and the children; but the boy did not come; worse yet, he did not say whether he would or not; and still worse, he expressed no thanks for the invitation.
One cold morning, soon after the school opened, Marcus was somewhat annoyed by the coughing of the scholars—not a very unusual occurrence at that season. Having reduced the school to perfect silence, so that the falling of a pin might have been heard, he proceeded to say:—
“I notice that many of the scholars have rather troublesome coughs. I have a cold myself, and I suppose I could cough as hard as any of you, if I chose to. But I am not going to do it. There are two objections to coughing. One is, it is injurious. The effort required in coughing is apt to tear the delicate fibres of the lungs. Sometimes people burst blood-vessels, while coughing, and die in consequence. The other objection is, it is unpleasant to those around us, especially in a school-room, church, or other public assembly. Sometimes, I admit, it is necessary to cough; but I think most of our coughing is unnecessary. By a little attention, and a little effort of the will, we can prevent it. Now I propose that those who have colds try the experiment with me, and we will see who will hold out longest without coughing.”
Marcus had no sooner closed, than Harrison fell into a violent fit of coughing, which it was evident to all was feigned. Some of the younger scholars smiled at this ill-mannered freak, but others looked daggers at its perpetrator. Marcus uttered no rebuke, but the eyes of the rogue fell before his steady, quiet, searching look.
A day or two after this, there was great excitement in the village, occasioned by the discovery that several sheep had been killed by bears, the tracks of which were found in the neighborhood of “Turkey Hill.” The presence of these animals in the town had been suspected for several weeks, but this was their first attack upon the sheep-folds of the farmers. Arrangements were at once made for a grand bear hunt, the next afternoon, and all the male population, above fifteen years of age, were invited to take part in it.
Marcus found, the next morning, that most of his boys had come to school prepared to join in the hunt, either as participants or spectators. All who could, had procured guns, and as the lads and young men lounged around the academy, in groups, examining and comparing their arms, a stranger might have suspected the existence of a “school rebellion” of a really startling description. But when the bell struck, the guns were peaceably deposited in the ante-room, and the school-room assumed its usual quiet aspect. At recess several of the boys were dismissed, having brought notes from home, requesting Marcus to excuse them at that hour. Two or three others petitioned for a similar favor, but, having no authority from their parents for making the request, Marcus felt obliged to deny them. He did this the more easily, because he thought the request a needless one. The hunting party was not to rendezvous until half past twelve o’clock—half an hour after the session closed for the day, for it was Saturday. Nevertheless, Harrison Clark, who was one of the disappointed applicants, appeared to think differently; for when the boys were called in from recess, he was missing. On looking from a window, Marcus saw him standing, gun in hand, near the post office, where a crowd of men appeared to be discussing the arrangements of the day. One of the large scholars was despatched to bring the runaway back; but Harrison saw the young man approaching, and mistrusting his errand, took to his heels, and made good his escape.