The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children

'I like you now,' said the little boy, courageously; 'but I love De Grey better; he has always been my friend, and he advised me never to call myself any of those names, Archer or Greybeard; so I won't. Though I am shut in here, I have nothing to do with it. I love Dr. Middleton; he was never unjust to me, and I daresay that he has very good reasons, as De Grey said, for forbidding us to go into that house. Besides, it's his own.'

Instead of admiring the good sense and steadiness of this little lad, Archer suffered Townsend to snatch the untasted bun out of his hands. He flung it at a hole in the window, but it fell back. The Archers scrambled for it, and Fisher ate it.

Archer saw this, and was sensible that he had not done handsomely in suffering it. A few moments ago he had admired his own generosity, and though he had felt the injustice of others, he had not accused himself of any. He turned away from the little boy, and sitting down at one end of the table, hid his face in his hands. He continued immovable in this posture for some time.

'Lord!' said Townsend; 'it was an excellent joke!' 'Pooh!' said Fisher; 'what a fool, to think so much about a bun!' 'Never mind, Mr. Archer, if you are thinking about me,' said the little boy, trying gently to pull his hands from his face.

Archer stooped down and lifted him up upon the table, at which sight the partisans set up a general hiss. 'He has forsaken us! He deserts his party! He wants to be a Greybeard! After he has got us all into this scrape, he will leave us!'

'I am not going to leave you,' cried Archer. 'No one shall ever accuse me of deserting my party. I'll stick by the Archers, right or wrong, I tell you, to the last moment. But this little fellow – take it as you please, mutiny if you will, and throw me out of the window. Call me traitor! coward! Greybeard! – this little fellow is worth you all put together, and I'll stand by him against any one who dares to lay a finger upon him; and the next morsel of food that I see shall be his. Touch him who dares!'

The commanding air with which Archer spoke and looked, and the belief that the little boy deserved his protection, silenced the crowd. But the storm was only hushed.

No sound of merriment was now to be heard – no battledore and shuttlecock – no ball, no marbles. Some sat in a corner, whispering their wishes that Archer would unbar the doors and give up. Others, stretching their arms, and gaping as they sauntered up and down the room, wished for air, or food, or water. Fisher and his nine, who had such firm dependence upon the gipsy, now gave themselves up to utter despair. It was eight o'clock, growing darker and darker every minute, and no candles, no light, could they have. The prospect of another long dark night made them still more discontented.

Townsend, at the head of the yawners, and Fisher, at the head of the hungry malcontents, gathered round Archer and the few yet unconquered spirits, demanding 'How long he meant to keep them in this dark dungeon? and whether he expected that they should starve themselves for his sake?'

The idea of giving up was more intolerable to Archer than all the rest. He saw that the majority, his own convincing argument, was against him. He was therefore obliged to condescend to the arts of persuasion. He flattered some with hopes of food from the town boys. Some he reminded of their promises; others he praised for former prowess; and others he shamed by the repetition of their high vaunts in the beginning of the business.

It was at length resolved that at all events they would hold out. With this determination they stretched themselves again to sleep, for the second night, in weak and weary obstinacy.

Archer slept longer and more soundly than usual the next morning, and when he awoke, he found his hands tied behind him! Three or four boys had just got hold of his feet, which they pressed down, whilst the trembling hands of Fisher were fastening the cord round them.

With all the force which rage could inspire, Archer struggled and roared to 'his Archers!' – his friends, his party – for help against the traitors. But all kept aloof. Townsend, in particular, stood laughing and looking on. 'I beg your pardon, Archer, but really you look so droll. All alive and kicking! Don't be angry. I'm so weak, I cannot help laughing to-day.'

The packthread cracked. 'His hands are free! He's loose!' cried the least of the boys, and ran away, whilst Archer leaped up, and seizing hold of Fisher with a powerful grasp, sternly demanded 'What he meant by this?'

'Ask my party,' said Fisher, terrified; 'they set me on; ask my party.'

'Your party!' cried Archer, with a look of ineffable contempt; 'you reptile! —your party? Can such a thing as you have a party?'

'To be sure!' said Fisher, settling his collar, which Archer in his surprise had let go; 'to be sure! Why not? Any man who chooses it may have a party as well as yourself, I suppose. I have nine Fishermen.'

At these words, spoken with much sullen importance, Archer, in spite of his vexation, could not help laughing. 'Fishermen!' cried he, 'Fishermen!' 'And why not Fishermen as well as Archers?' cried they. 'One party is just as good as another; it is only a question which can get the upper hand; and we had your hands tied just now.'

'That's right, Townsend,' said Archer, 'laugh on, my boy! Friend or foe, it's all the same to you. I know how to value your friendship now. You are a mighty good fellow when the sun shines; but let a storm come, and how you slink away!'

At this instant, Archer felt the difference between a good companion and a good friend, a difference which some people do not discover till late in life.

'Have I no friend? – no real friend amongst you all? And could ye stand by and see my hands tied behind me like a thief's? What signifies such a party – all mute?'

'We want something to eat,' answered the Fishermen. 'What signifies such a party, indeed? and such a manager, who can do nothing for one?'

'And have I done nothing?'

'Don't let's hear any more prosing,' said Fisher; 'we are too many for you. I've advised my party, if they've a mind not to be starved, to give you up for the ringleader, as you were; and Dr. Middleton will not let us all off, I daresay.' So, depending upon the sullen silence of the assembly, he again approached Archer with a cord. A cry of 'No, no, no! Don't tie him,' was feebly raised.

Archer stood still, but the moment Fisher touched him, he knocked him down to the ground, and turning to the rest, with eyes sparkling with indignation, 'Archers!' cried he. A voice at this instant was heard at the door. It was De Grey's voice. 'I have got a large basket of provisions for your breakfast.' A general shout of joy was sent forth by the voracious public. 'Breakfast! Provisions! A large basket! De Grey for ever! Huzza!'

De Grey promised, upon his honour, that if he would unbar the door nobody should come in with him, and no advantage should be taken of them. This promise was enough even for Archer. 'I will let him in,' said he, 'myself; for I'm sure he'll never break his word.' He pulled away the bar; the door opened; and having bargained for the liberty of Melsom, the little boy who had been shut in by mistake, De Grey entered with his basket of provisions, when he locked and barred the door instantly.

Joy and gratitude sparkled in every face when he unpacked his basket and spread the table with a plentiful breakfast. A hundred questions were asked him at once. 'Eat first,' said he, 'and we will talk afterwards.' This business was quickly despatched by those who had not tasted food for a long while. Their curiosity increased as their hunger diminished. 'Who sent us breakfast? Does Dr. Middleton know?' were questions reiterated from every mouth.

'He does know,' answered De Grey; 'and the first thing I have to tell you is, that I am your fellow-prisoner. I am to stay here till you give up. This was the only condition on which Dr. Middleton would allow me to bring you food, and he will allow no more.'

Every one looked at the empty basket. But Archer, in whom half-vanquished party spirit revived with the strength he had got from his breakfast, broke into exclamations in praise of De Grey's magnanimity, as he now imagined that De Grey had become one of themselves.

'And you will join us, will you? That's a noble fellow!' 'No,' answered De Grey, calmly; 'but I hope to persuade, or rather to convince you, that you ought to join me.' 'You would have found it no hard task to have persuaded or convinced us, whichever you pleased,' said Townsend, 'if you had appealed to Archers fasting; but Archers feasting are quite other animals. Even Cæsar himself, after breakfast, is quite another thing!' added he, pointing to Archer. 'You may speak for yourself, Mr. Townsend,' replied the insulted hero, 'but not for me, or for Archers in general, if you please. We unbarred the door upon the faith of De Grey's promise —that was not giving up. And it would have been just as difficult, I promise you, to persuade or convince me either that I should give up against my honour before breakfast as after.'

This spirited speech was applauded by many, who had now forgotten the feelings of famine. Not so Fisher, whose memory was upon this occasion very distinct.

'What nonsense,' and the orator paused for a synonymous expression, but none was at hand. 'What nonsense and – nonsense is here! Why, don't you remember that dinner-time, and supper-time, and breakfast-time will come again? So what signifies mouthing about persuading and convincing? We will not go through again what we did yesterday! Honour me no honour. I don't understand it. I'd rather be flogged at once, as I have been many's the good time for a less thing. I say, we'd better all be flogged at once, which must be the end of it sooner or later, than wait here to be without dinner, breakfast, and supper, all only because Mr. Archer won't give up because of his honour and nonsense!'

Many prudent faces amongst the Fishermen seemed to deliberate at the close of this oration, in which the arguments were brought so 'home to each man's business and bosom.'

'But,' said De Grey, 'when we yield, I hope it will not be merely to get our dinner, gentlemen. When we yield, Archer – ' 'Don't address yourself to me,' interrupted Archer, struggling with his pride; 'you have no further occasion to try to win me. I have no power, no party, you see! And now I find that I have no friends, I don't care what becomes of myself. I suppose I'm to be given up as a ringleader. Here's this Fisher, and a party of his Fishermen, were going to tie me hand and foot, if I had not knocked him down, just as you came to the door, De Grey; and now perhaps you will join Fisher's party against me.'

De Grey was going to assure him that he had no intention of joining any party, when a sudden change appeared on Archer's countenance. 'Silence!' cried Archer, in an imperious tone, and there was silence. Some one was heard to whistle the beginning of a tune, that was perfectly new to everybody present except to Archer, who immediately whistled the conclusion. 'There!' cried he, looking at De Grey with triumph; 'that's a method of holding secret correspondence, whilst a prisoner, which I learned from "Richard Cœur de Lion." I know how to make use of everything. Hallo! friend! are you there at last?' cried he, going to the ventilator. 'Yes, but we are barred out here.' 'Round to the window then, and fill our bag. We'll let it down, my lad, in a trice; bar me out who can!'

Archer let down the bag with all the expedition of joy, and it was filled with all the expedition of fear. 'Pull away! make haste, for Heaven's sake!' said the voice from without; 'the gardener will come from dinner, else, and we shall be caught. He mounted guard all yesterday at the ventilator; and though I watched and watched till it was darker than pitch, I could not get near you. I don't know what has taken him out of the way now. Make haste, pull away!' The heavy bag was soon pulled up. 'Have you any more?' said Archer. 'Yes, plenty. Let down quick! I've got the tailor's bag full, which is three times as large as yours, and I've changed clothes with the tailor's boy; so nobody took notice of me as I came down the street.'

'There's my own cousin!' exclaimed Archer, 'there's a noble fellow! there's my own cousin, I acknowledge. Fill the bag, then.' Several times the bag descended and ascended; and at every unlading of the crane, fresh acclamations were heard. 'I have no more!' at length the boy with the tailor's bag cried. 'Off with you, then; we've enough, and thank you.'

A delightful review was now made of their treasure. Busy hands arranged and sorted the heterogeneous mass. Archer, in the height of his glory, looked on, the acknowledged master of the whole. Townsend, who, in his prosperity as in adversity, saw and enjoyed the comic foibles of his friends, pushed De Grey, who was looking on with a more good-natured and more thoughtful air. 'Friend,' said he, 'you look like a great philosopher, and Archer a great hero.' 'And you, Townsend,' said Archer, 'may look like a wit, if you will; but you will never be a hero.' 'No, no,' replied Townsend; 'wits were never heroes, because they are wits. You are out of your wits, and therefore may set up for a hero.' 'Laugh, and welcome. I'm not a tyrant. I don't want to restrain anybody's wit; but I cannot say I admire puns.' 'Nor I, either,' said the time-serving Fisher, sidling up to the manager, and picking the ice off a piece of plum-cake, 'nor I either; I hate puns. I can never understand Townsend's puns. Besides, anybody can make puns; and one doesn't want wit, either, at all times; for instance, when one is going to settle about dinner, or business of consequence. Bless us all, Archer!' continued he, with sudden familiarity, 'what a sight of good things are here! I'm sure we are much obliged to you and your cousin. I never thought he'd have come. Why, now we can hold out as long as you please. Let us see,' said he, dividing the provisions upon the table; 'we can hold out to-day, and all to-morrow, and part of next day, maybe. Why, now we may defy the doctor and the Greybeards. The doctor will surely give up to us; for, you see, he knows nothing of all this, and he'll think we are starving all this while; and he'd be afraid, you see, to let us starve quite, in reality, for three whole days, because of what would be said in the town. My Aunt Barbara, for one, would be at him long before that time was out; and besides, you know, in that case, he'd be hanged for murder, which is quite another thing, in law, from a Barring Out, you know.'

Archer had not given to this harangue all the attention which it deserved, for his eye was fixed upon De Grey. 'What is De Grey thinking of?' he asked, impatiently. 'I am thinking,' said De Grey, 'that Dr. Middleton must believe that I have betrayed his confidence in me. The gardener was ordered away from his watch-post for one half-hour when I was admitted. This half-hour the gardener has made nearly an hour. I never would have come near you if I had foreseen all this. Dr. Middleton trusted me, and now he will repent of his confidence in me.' 'De Grey!' cried Archer, with energy, 'he shall not repent of his confidence in you – nor shall you repent of coming amongst us. You shall find that we have some honour as well as yourself, and I will take care of your honour as if it were my own!' 'Hey-day!' interrupted Townsend; 'are heroes allowed to change sides, pray? And does the chief of the Archers stand talking sentiment to the chief of the Greybeards? In the middle of his own party too!' 'Party!' repeated Archer, disdainfully; 'I have done with parties! I see what parties are made of! I have felt the want of a friend, and I am determined to make one if I can.' 'That you may do,' said De Grey, stretching out his hand.

'Unbar the doors! unbar the windows!' exclaimed Archer. 'Away with all these things! I give up for De Grey's sake. He shall not lose his credit on my account.' 'No,' said De Grey, 'you shall not give up for my sake.' 'Well, then, I'll give up to do what is honourable,' said Archer. 'Why not to do what is reasonable?' said De Grey. 'Reasonable! Oh, the first thing that a man of spirit should think of is, what is honourable.' 'But how will he find out what is honourable, unless he can reason?' replied De Grey. 'Oh,' said Archer, 'his own feelings always tell him what is honourable.' 'Have not your feelings,' asked De Grey, 'changed within these few hours?' 'Yes, with circumstances,' replied Archer; 'but, right or wrong, as long as I think it honourable to do so and so, I'm satisfied.' 'But you cannot think anything honourable, or the contrary,' observed De Grey, 'without reasoning; and as to what you call feeling, it's only a quick sort of reasoning.' 'The quicker the better,' said Archer. 'Perhaps not,' said De Grey. 'We are apt to reason best when we are not in quite so great a hurry.' 'But,' said Archer, 'we have not always time enough to reason at first.' 'You must, however, acknowledge,' replied De Grey, smiling, 'that no man but a fool thinks it honourable to be in the wrong at last. Is it not, therefore, best to begin by reasoning to find out the right at first?' 'To be sure,' said Archer. 'And did you reason with yourself at first? And did you find out that it was right to bar Dr. Middleton out of his own schoolroom, because he desired you not to go into one of his own houses?' 'No,' replied Archer; 'but I should never have thought of heading a Barring Out, if he had not shown partiality; and if you had flown into a passion with me openly at once for pulling down your scenery, which would have been quite natural, and not have gone slily and forbid us the house out of revenge, there would have been none of this work.' 'Why,' said De Grey, 'should you suspect me of such a mean action, when you have never seen or known me do anything mean, and when in this instance you have no proofs?' 'Will you give me your word and honour now, De Grey, before everybody here, that you did not do what I suspected?' 'I do assure you, upon my honour, I never, indirectly, spoke to Dr. Middleton about the playhouse.' 'Then,' said Archer, 'I'm as glad as if I had found a thousand pounds! Now you are my friend indeed.' 'And Dr. Middleton – why should you suspect him without reason any more than me?' 'As to that,' said Archer, 'he is your friend, and you are right to defend him; and I won't say another word against him. Will that satisfy you?' 'Not quite.' 'Not quite! Then, indeed, you are unreasonable!' 'No,' replied De Grey; 'for I don't wish you to yield out of friendship to me, any more than to honour. If you yield to reason, you will be governed by reason another time.' 'Well, but then don't triumph over me, because you have the best side of the argument.' 'Not I! How can I?' said De Grey; 'for now you are on the best side as well as myself, are not you? So we may triumph together.'

'You are a good friend!' said Archer; and with great eagerness he pulled down the fortifications, whilst every hand assisted. The room was restored to order in a few minutes – the shutters were thrown open, the cheerful light let in. The windows were thrown up, and the first feeling of the fresh air was delightful. The green playground opened before them, and the hopes of exercise and liberty brightened the countenances of these voluntary prisoners.

But, alas! they were not yet at liberty. The idea of Dr. Middleton, and the dread of his vengeance, smote their hearts. When the rebels had sent an ambassador with their surrender, they stood in pale and silent suspense, waiting for their doom.

'Ah!' said Fisher, looking up at the broken panes in the windows, 'the doctor will think the most of that– he'll never forgive us for that.'

'Hush! here he comes!' His steady step was heard approaching nearer and nearer. Archer threw open the door, and Dr. Middleton entered. Fisher instantly fell on his knees. 'It is no delight to me to see people on their knees. Stand up, Mr. Fisher. I hope you are all conscious that you have done wrong?' 'Sir,' said Archer, 'they are conscious that they have done wrong, and so am I. I am the ringleader. Punish me as you think proper. I submit. Your punishments – your vengeance ought to fall on me alone!'

'Sir,' said Dr. Middleton, calmly, 'I perceive that whatever else you may have learned in the course of your education, you have not been taught the meaning of the word punishment. Punishment and vengeance do not with us mean the same thing. Punishment is pain given, with the reasonable hope of preventing those on whom it is inflicted from doing, in future, what will hurt themselves or others. Vengeance never looks to the future, but is the expression of anger for an injury that is past. I feel no anger; you have done me no injury.'

Here many of the little boys looked timidly up to the windows. 'Yes, I see that you have broken my windows; that is a small evil.' 'Oh, sir! How good! How merciful!' exclaimed those who had been most panic-struck. 'He forgives us!'

'Stay,' resumed Dr. Middleton; 'I cannot forgive you. I shall never revenge, but it is my duty to punish. You have rebelled against the just authority which is necessary to conduct and govern you whilst you have not sufficient reason to govern and conduct yourselves. Without obedience to the laws,' added he, turning to Archer, 'as men, you cannot be suffered in society. You, sir, think yourself a man, I observe; and you think it the part of a man not to submit to the will of another. I have no pleasure in making others, whether men or children, submit to my will; but my reason and experience are superior to yours. Your parents at least think so, or they would not have entrusted me with the care of your education. As long as they do entrust you to my care, and as long as I have any hopes of making you wiser and better by punishment, I shall steadily inflict it, whenever I judge it to be necessary, and I judge it to be necessary now. This is a long sermon, Mr. Archer, not preached to show my own eloquence, but to convince your understanding. Now, as to your punishment!'

'Name it, sir,' said Archer; 'whatever it is, I will cheerfully submit to it.' 'Name it yourself,' said Dr. Middleton, 'and show me that you now understand the nature of punishment.'

Archer, proud to be treated like a reasonable creature, and sorry that he had behaved like a foolish schoolboy, was silent for some time, but at length replied, 'That he would rather not name his own punishment.' He repeated, however, that he trusted he should bear it well, whatever it might be.

'I shall then,' said Dr. Middleton, 'deprive you, for two months, of pocket-money, as you have had too much, and have made a bad use of it.'