 | CHAPTER VII. Dukesborough tales |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
Then you and I and all of us fell down!”
If the pupils of Josiah Lorriby's school had had the knowledge of all
tongues; if they had been familiar with the histories of all the base
men of all the ages, they could have found no words in which to characterise,
and no person with whom to compare, Mr. Bill Williams. If
they had known what it was to be a traitor, they might have admitted
that he was more like this, the most despicable of all characters, than
any other. But they would have argued that he was baser than all
other traitors, because he had betrayed, not only others, but himself.
Mr. Bill Williams, the big boy, the future resident of Dukesborough,
the expectant clerk, the vindicator of persecuted girlhood in the person
he should have taken the pains, just before he was going away, to degrade
himself by proposing to take upon his own shoulders the rod
that had never before descended but upon the backs and legs of children!
Poor Seaborn Byne! If I ever saw expressed in a human
being's countenance, disgust, anger and abject hopelessness, I saw
them as I turned to look at him. He spoke not one word, not even in
whispers, but he looked as if he could never more place confidence in
mortal flesh.
When Mr. Bill had concluded his ultimatum, the female Lorriby's
arms came down, and the male Lorriby's head went up. They sent
each the other a smile. Both were smart enough to be satisfied. The
latter was more than satisfied.
“I am proud this day of William Williams. It air so, and I can but
say I air proud of him. William Williams were now in a position to
stand up and shine in his new spere of action. If he went to Dukesborough
to keep store thar, he mout now go sayin that as he had been
a good scholar, so he mout expect to be a good clerk, and fit to be
trusted, yea, with thousands upon thousands, ef sich mout be the case.
But as it was so, and as he have been to us all as it war, and no dif-ficulties,
and no nothin of the sort, and he war goin, and it mout be
soon, yea, it mout be to-morrow, from this school straight intoo a
store, I cannot, nor I cannot. No, far be it. This were a skene too
solemn and too lovely for sich. I cannot, nor I cannot. William
Williams may now take his seat.”
Mr. Bill obeyed. I was glad that he did not look at Betsy Ann as
she turned to go to hers. But she looked at him. I saw her, and little
as I was, I saw also that if he ever had had any chance of winning
her, it was gone from him forever. It was now late in the afternoon,
and we were dismissed. Without saying a word to any one, Mr. Bill
took his arithmetic and slate (for ciphering, as it was called then, was
his only study). We knew what it meant, for we felt, as well as he,
that this was his last day at school. As my getting to school depended
upon his continuance, I did not doubt that it was my last also.
On the way home, but not until separating from all the other boys,
Mr. Bill showed some disposition to boast.
“You all little fellows was monstous badly skeerd this evening,
Squire.”
“Wasn't you scared too?” I asked.
“Skeerd? I'd like to see the schoolmaster that could skeer me.
I skeerd of Joe Larrabee?”
“I did not think you were scared of him.”
“Skeerd of who then? Miss Larrabee? Old Red Eye? She
mout be redder-eyed than what she ar, and then not skeer me. Why
look here, Squire, how would I look goin into Dukesborough, into Mr.
Bland and Jones' store, right from bein skeerd of old Miss Larrabee;
to be runnin right intoo Mr. Bland and Jones' store, and old Mehetibilly
Larrabee right arter me, or old Joe nuther. It wur well for him
that he never struck Betsy Ann Acry. Ef he had a struck her, Joe
Larrabee's strikin days would be over.”
“But wasn't you goin to take her whippin for her?”
“Lookee here, Squire, I didn't take it, did I?”
“No, but you said you was ready to take it.”
“Poor little fellow!” he said, compassionately. “Squire, you are
yit young in the ways of this sorrowful and ontimely world. Joe Larrabee
knows me, and I knows Joe Larrabee, and as the feller said, that
ar sufficient.”
We were now at our gate. Mr. Bill bade me good evening, and
passed on; and thus ended his pupilage and mine at the school of
Josiah Lorriby.
| CHAPTER VII. Dukesborough tales | |