I.–i.
T
schoolmaster was leaving the village, and everybody seemed
sorry. The miller at Cresscombe lent him
the small white tilted cart
and horse to carry his goods to the city of his destination, about
twenty miles o
ff, such a vehicle proving of quite sufficient size for
the departing teacher’s e
ffects. For the schoolhouse had been partly
furnished by the managers, and the only cumbersome article pos-
sessed by the master, in addition to the packing-case of books, was a
cottage piano that he had bought at an
auction during the year in
which he thought of learning instrumental music. But the enthusi-
asm having waned he had never acquired any skill in playing, and the
purchased article had been a perpetual trouble to him ever since in
moving house.
The rector had gone away for the day, being a man who disliked
the sight of changes. He did not mean to return till the evening,
when the new school-teacher would have arrived and settled in, and
everything would be smooth again.
The blacksmith,
the farm baili
ff, and the schoolmaster himself
were standing in perplexed attitudes in the parlour before the
instrument. The master had remarked that even if he got it into
the cart he should not know what to do with it on his arrival at
Christminster,* the city he was bound for, since he was only going
into temporary lodgings just at
first.
A little boy of eleven, who had been thoughtfully assisting in the
packing,
joined the group of men, and as they rubbed their chins he
spoke up, blushing at the sound of his own voice:
‘Aunt have got a great fuel-house, and it could be put there, per-
haps, till you’ve found a place to settle in, sir.’
‘A proper good notion,’ said the blacksmith.
It was decided that a deputation should wait on the boy’s aunt––
an old maiden resident––and ask her if she would house the piano till
Mr. Phillotson should send for it. The smith and the baili
ff started to
see the practicability of the suggested shelter,
and the boy and the
schoolmaster were left standing alone.
‘Sorry I am going, Jude?’* asked the latter kindly.
Tears rose into the boy’s eyes; for he was not among the regular
day scholars who came unromantically close to the schoolmaster’s
life, but one who had attended the night school only during the
present teacher’s term of o
ffice. The regular scholars, if the truth
must be told, stood at the present moment afar o
ff, like certain
historic
disciples,* indisposed to any enthusiastic volunteering of aid.
The boy awkwardly opened the book he held in his hand, which
Mr. Phillotson had bestowed on him as a parting gift, and admitted
that he was sorry.
‘So am I,’ said Mr. Phillotson.
‘Why do you go, sir?’ asked the boy.
‘Ah––that would be a long story. You wouldn’t understand my
reasons, Jude. You will perhaps when you are older.’
‘I think I should now, sir.’
‘Well––don’t speak of this everywhere. You know what a uni-
versity is, and a university degree? It is the necessary hallmark of a
man who wants to do anything in teaching.
My scheme, or dream, is
to be a university graduate, and then to be ordained. By going to live
at Christminster, or near it, I shall be at headquarters, so to speak,
and if my scheme is practicable at all, I consider that being on the
spot will a
fford me a better chance of carrying it out than I should
have elsewhere.’
The smith and his companion returned. Old Miss Fawley’s fuel-
house was
dry and eminently practicable; and she seemed willing to
give the instrument standing-room there. It was accordingly left in
the school till the evening, when more hands would be available for
removing it, and the schoolmaster gave a
final glance round.
The boy Jude assisted in loading some small articles, and at nine
o’clock Mr. Phillotson mounted beside his box of books and other
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