University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
MR. PARMENTER DRAWN TO THE FLAME.

The blaze of that dress of Mrs. Wadham's, if it had
not flashed into a great many eyes of Eastham people,
had yet been heard of in the post-office and the store,
and in many a private house and homestead of the
town, within a few hours after that dress had become
tinder. Public opinion had not satisfied itself “how
Mrs. Wadham's dress came to be on that tree,” or
“how it came to be set on fire.” That “she had lent
it to be a sacrifice or something,” was part of the general
information, and was wrought-in through the
public discussions of the subject, but did not help to
make things plainer.

This contribution to the fund of general knowledge
was, most likely, made by Eldridge, who, in coming
back from the cars, made visits of some length to both
store and post-office.

One man there was in Eastham to whom the affairs
of Town and School were alike near; and to him was
many a question proposed, to find out “what those
boys had been up to, there, at Saint Bartholomew's
School.”

Mr. Parmenter, a leading man and a leading trustee
of St. Bart's, had the reputation of keeping himself
pretty closely informed of whatever took place there.

The School, as it had happened, though still in its early
infancy, had had the benefit of more than half as many
heads as it had seen years; and this variety and abundance
was said to be owing to the vigilant supervision
and unremitting interest of that active trustee.

Sometimes he was coming out of the stable; sometimes
he was looking into the kitchen; sometimes he
was talking or asking about arrangements in the cellar.
He was occasionally bringing information to the Rector
of the School, and occasionally asking information from
him; he was corresponding with parents, and he kept
up continual intercourse with the under-masters and
the boys.

This assiduous devotion was said not to have been
approved by any of the different heads, so far; and
one after another, like swiftly circling stars, had rolled
off into space.

Mr. Parmenter's way of discharging the duties of his
office of trustee, if not properly appreciated by the
several rectors, was very efficient in its kind. He never
left the other members of the Board in ignorance of
weak points in the administration of the School; and
he never failed to administer comfort to the existing
Rector, and to excite him to noble effort, by showing
him how inferior his predecessor had been, and making
him familiar with the chief short-comings of the former
administrations.

With this active spirit in him, we may be sure that
it was not long before Mr. Parmenter put himself in the
way of possessing all the information that was to be
had.

The Reverend Mr. Warren, Rector of St. Bart's
School, was walking up and down upon the piazza, and

apparently in that state of settled thoughtfulness in
which one rests himself now and then, or draws himself
off from his care by looking for a while at this thing,
or listening for a while to that person.

As he paced to and fro, he stopped at one time, and
fixed his eyes steadily, though not very actively, on the
figures of a horse and rider coming along the South
Road, and leaving behind them a little cloud of dust,
such as can be raised, even just before winter, in certain
conditions of our soil. The horse, as could be seen,
even from a distance, was a good one; and his gait,
an easy gallop, showed good training. Having looked
in that direction for a moment or two, Mr. Warren
turned and walked again.

The rhythmic sound of iron-shod hoofs drew nearer,
was deadened for a moment, and then clattered up the
short road-way to the School buildings. The walker had
turned, at the end of his beat, and was coming back,
just as the rider was close at hand.

About the latter there was something of what is
called “air,” as he sat his horse, with his heels decisively
down, the rein held lightly, and the whip
under his arm. He was a little stiff, perhaps, but looked
as if he knew that he was right, and as if there was no
other way of doing what he was doing than that. His
salute was something very definite also.

“Good morning, sir!” he said, from the little distance
near the side-gate. “You've been having quite a piece
of fireworks, I hear.”

“Why, no; nothing of any consequence, that I remember,”
answered Mr. Warren, and invited Mr. Parmenter,
his visitor, to come in.

The horseman excused himself for want of time.

“One of our ladies has lost a portion of her wardrobe,
I'm told,” he continued, smiling. “No disorderly
conduct among the boys, I hope? — It occurred to me
that it might be necessary to make some atonement.
Of course, we couldn't offer compensation exactly.”

“I don't think any thing is to be done on our side.
If the lady lends a dress to her son or another boy, she
must look to the boy,” said Mr. Warren. “I don't propose
to do any thing about it.”

— “If it don't bring the School into any trouble,” said
Mr. Parmenter, like one who felt that there were a good
many things to be thought of by men in responsible
positions. “People have a way of talking. You find
Brade, I suppose, a high-spirited fellow?” he continued,
changing the subject a little, after having given his
hint.

“A very fine boy, and a very promising boy, every
way,” answered the Rector of the School; “with the
stuff in him to make a good Christian man, and a
satisfaction to his friends.”

This thorough commendation apparently gave much
satisfaction. Mr. Parmenter called to Mr. Stout, and
very courteously desired him to take his horse (“he
would be only a minute or two”). Then he formally,
and with precision, dismounted, and, coming upon the
piazza, seated himself on one of the settees, and busied
his hands with setting right some of the twisting of the
rattan, of which it was made, while he talked.

“I believe,” he said, “young Brade's birthday comes
to-morrow.” Then, after a pause to give effect to his
minuteness of information, he said, “Am I right, sir?
Perhaps it has occurred to you already, without any
suggestion. Of course” (with a bow, and interrupting

himself) “I haven't any fear of your neglecting any
thing that concerns the intellectual part of the boys'
education. There were some things it was impossible
to make your prede —”

Mr. Warren's face, it must be confessed, showed
less interest than annoyance. Mr. Parmenter proceeded:
—

“It's the custom, I believe, in foreign countries, —
and a very graceful one, as it strikes me” (the word
“graceful” he made emphatic), — “to have a good
deal of ceremony on birthdays. We can't make a
difference between one boy and another, but Brade is
a little homesick, and we might” —

“Brade isn't homesick,” said Mr. Warren. “There
isn't a happier fellow in the school.”

“Perhaps our information differs,” said Mr. Parmenter,
with sufficient gravity. “I commonly have independent
sources. I thought you might make a little
more of him. Perhaps a little special attention” —

Mr. Warren had changed color, for some reason or
other, during this speech. He answered: —

“Thank you: he won't be neglected.”

Mr. Parmenter changed the subject again.

“I saw a very beautiful drawing, — by one of your
family, I think, sir. Would it be too much trouble to
let me see it? It was lying on the table in the front
room. That's it, I think,” he added, having left his
seat and looked through the window.

Mr. Warren obligingly brought it, — a crayon drawing.

“By your sister, sir, I think I understood?” continued
Mr. Parmenter. “There's a great deal of depth”
(emphatic) “in that. Is it after an old master?”

The drawing was of a western sky and sunset, as was
indicated by the attitudes of such animated figures as
appeared in it. It was really so good that the splendors
flung upon the clouds, and showing through a row of
leafless larches and other trees, on a rising ground,
seemed scarcely to want the gorgeous hues of gold and
scarlet or crimson.

It even seemed to change, under the eye, to deepening
or lightening of red, and burnishing or dimming of
yellow, as the colors change aloft while the sun is going
down, and promising a fine to-morrow.

“That impresses me very much, sir,” said Mr. Parmenter.
“I wish you'd allow me to have it framed.
It's a jewel worthy of being set in an appropriate
case.”

Mr. Warren excused himself, very absolutely, with
thanks.

Mr. Parmenter drew a parcel from his pocket.

“Perhaps you'd do me the favor, sir, to give that to
Brade, with my wishes for `many happy returns'?”

“Certainly,” said Mr. Warren, “unless you'd like to
give it yourself.”

On this point Mr. Parmenter, a man of business and
experience, had notions of propriety, and said: —

“I think it better to have every thing, as far as
possible, pass through the Rector's hands. You haven't
observed any communication between Mrs. Ryan and
— you know, I suppose, they say she's a watch over
him.”

“Oh, no!” said Mr. Warren, impatiently. “There
would be no harm if there were.”

“I don't feel so sure of that,” said Mr. Parmenter,
deliberately, like one who felt his own responsibilities, if

not those of others also. “I'm not clear that it would
be safe to shut our eyes to any possible harm which
might befall one committed to our care. Have we? I
think not.”

With this expression of opinion Mr. Parmenter took
his leave; mounted his horse in true style, grasping the
reins and a lock of the mane in his left hand; setting
his foot deliberately in the stirrup, while Mr. Stout held
the head; springing and swinging himself over the
saddle. When he found himself handsomely in his
seat, he promised to do as much for Mr. Stout when
Mr. Stout should need his services in the same way,
and, putting his horse to an easy gallop, rode off.