Part 25 (1/2)

But before the end of the month, at the mere mention of Tommy's name, Mr. Cathro turned red in the face, and the fingers of his laying-on hand would clutch an imaginary pair of tawse. Already Tommy had made him self-conscious. He peered covertly at Tommy, and Tommy caught him at it every time, and then each quickly looked another way, and Cathro vowed never to look again, but did it next minute, and what enraged him most was that he knew Tommy noted his attempts at self-restraint as well as his covert glances. All the other pupils knew that a change for the worse had come over the dominie's temper. They saw him punish Tommy frequently without perceptible cause, and that he was still unsatisfied when the punishment was over. This apparently was because Tommy gave him a look before returning to his seat. When they had been walloped they gave Cathro a look also, but it merely meant, ”Oh, that this was a dark road and I had a divot in my hand!” while his look was unreadable, that is unreadable to them, for the dominie understood it and writhed. What it said was, ”You think me a wonder, and therefore I forgive you.”

”And sometimes he fair beats Cathro!” So Tommy's schoolmates reported at home, and the dominie had to acknowledge its truth to Aaron. ”I wish you would give that sacket a thras.h.i.+ng for me,” he said, half furiously, yet with a grin on his face, one day when he and the warper chanced to meet on the Monypenny road.

”I'll no lay a hand on bairn o' Jean Myles,” Aaron replied. ”Ay, and I understood you to say that he should meet his match in you.”

”Did I ever say that, man? Well, well, we live and learn.”

”What has he been doing now?”

”What has he been doing!” echoed Cathro. ”He has been making me look foolish in my own cla.s.s-room. Yes, sir, he has so completely got the better of me (and not for the first time) that when I tell the story of how he diddled Mr. Ogilvy, Mr. Ogilvy will be able to cap it with the story of how the little whelp diddled me. Upon my soul, Aaron, he is running away with all my self-respect and destroying my sense of humor.”

What had so crushed the dominie was the affair of Francie Crabb. Francie was now a pupil, like Gavin Dishart and Tommy, of Mr. Cathro's, who detested the boy's golden curls, perhaps because he was bald himself.

They were also an incentive to evil-doing on the part of other boys, who must give them a tug in pa.s.sing, and on a day the dominie said, in a fury, ”Give your mother my compliments, Francie, and tell her I'm so tired of seeing your curls that I mean to cut them off to-morrow morning.”

”Say he shall not,” whispered Tommy.

”You shanna!” blurted out Francie.

”But I will,” said Cathro; ”I would do it now if I had the shears.”

It was only an empty threat, but an hour afterwards the dominie caught Tommy wagering in witchy marbles and other coin that he would not do it, and then instead of taking the tawse to him he said, ”Keep him to his bargains, laddies, for whatever may have been my intention at the time, I mean to be as good as my word now.”

He looked triumphantly at Tommy, who, however, instead of seeming crestfallen, continued to bet, and now the other boys were eager to close with him, for great was their faith in Cathro. These transactions were carried out on the sly, but the dominie knew what was going on, and despite his faith in himself he had his twitches of uneasiness.

”However, the boy can only be trusting to fear of Mrs. Crabb restraining me,” he decided, and he marched into the school-room next morning, ostentatiously displaying his wife's largest scissors. His pupils crowded in after him, and though he noticed that all were strangely quiet and many wearing scared faces, he put it down to the coming scene.

He could not resist giving one triumphant glance at Tommy, who, however, instead of returning it, looked modestly down. Then--”Is Francie Crabb here?” asked Mr. Cathro, firmly.

”He's hodding ahint the press,” cried a dozen voices.

”Come forward, Francie,” said the dominie, clicking the shears to encourage him.

There was a long pause, and then Francie emerged in fear from behind the press. Yes, it was Francie, but his curls were gone!

The shears fell to the floor. ”Who did this?” roared the terrible Cathro.

”It was Tommy Sandys,” blurted out Francis, in tears.

The school-master was unable to speak, and, alarmed at the stillness, Francie whined, ”He said it would be done at ony rate, and he promised me half his winnings.”

It is still remembered by bearded men and married women who were at school that day how Cathro leaped three forms to get at Tommy, and how Tommy cried under the tawse and yet laughed ecstatically at the same time, and how subsequently he and Francie collected so many dues that the pockets of them stood out like brackets from their little persons.

The dominie could not help grinning a little at his own discomfiture as he told this story, but Aaron saw nothing amusing in it. ”As I telled you,” he repeated, ”I winna touch him, so if you're no content wi' what you've done yoursel', you had better put Francie's mither on him.”

”I hear she has taken him in hand already,” Mr. Cathro replied dryly.

”But, Aaron, I wish you would at least keep him closer to his lessons at night, for it is seldom he comes to the school well prepared.”

”I see him sitting lang ower his books,” said Aaron.

”Ay, maybe, but is he at them?” responded the dominie with a shake of the head that made Aaron say, with his first show of interest in the conversation, ”You have little faith in his carrying a bursary, I see.”