Chapter Two.

How I made my First Acquaintance with Stonebridge House.

The eventful Monday came at last, and with my little box corded up, with Mrs Hudson as an escort, and a pair of brand-new knickerbockers upon my manly person, I started off from my uncle’s house in the coach for Stonebridge, with all the world before me.

I had taken a rather gloomy farewell of my affectionate relative in his study. He had cautioned me as to my conduct, and given me to understand that at Stonebridge House I should be a good deal more strictly looked after than I had ever been with him. Saying which he had bestowed on me a threepenny-bit as “pocket-money” for the term, and wished me good-bye. Under the circumstances I was not greatly overcome by this leave-taking, and settled down to make myself comfortable for my long drive with Mrs Hudson to Stonebridge.

Mrs Hudson had been my nurse ever since I could remember, and now the poor old soul and I were to part for good. For she was to see me safely inside the doors of Stonebridge House, and then go back, not to my uncle’s (where she would no longer be needed), but to her own home. Of course she was very much depressed by the prospect, and so indeed was I. For a good while we neither of us said much. Then, by way of changing the subject and beguiling the way, she began to address to me long and solemn exhortations as to my conduct at the new school. She knew as much about “schools for backward and troublesome boys” as I did; but that was no matter.

She made me promise, for one thing, that I would make a point of wearing a clean collar three times a week; and, for another, of calling the housekeeper’s attention to the very first sign of a hole in my socks. (As my socks, by the way, usually showed the daylight in upon six out of the ten toes, and one out of the two heels every time I took off my boots, I was promising a lot when I made this bargain!) Further, I was to see my Sunday clothes were always hung on pegs, and not laid in drawers; and my blue necktie, mind, was not to be touched till my black-and-pink was past work.

From these matters she passed on to my conduct towards my new masters and companions.

“Mind and always tell them the truth straight out, Freddy,” she said, “and say ‘sir’ whenever you speak to Mr Ladislaw—and say your prayers regularly night and day, won’t you? and be very careful to use your own comb and brush, and not lend them about to the other young gentlemen.”

Mrs Hudson, you see, had an easy way of flying from one topic to another. Her exhortations were crowded with pieces of good advice, which may have sounded funny when all strung together, but were each of them admirable taken separately. I of course promised her everything.

The journey was a long one, but the day was bright, and we had a good basketful of provender, so it was not tedious. At length the driver turned round, and said we should come in sight of Stonebridge at the next turn of the road.

My spirits began to sink for the first time. Dismal and all as Brownstroke had been, how did I know I should not be happier there, after all, than at this strange new place, where I knew no one? I wished the driver wouldn’t go so fast. Mrs Hudson saw my emotion, I think, for she once more opened fire, and, so to speak, gathered up the last crumbs of her good counsel.

“Oh, and Freddy dear,” fumbling nervously in her pocket, and letting down her veil, “write and tell me what they give you to eat; remember, pork’s bad for you, and leave your cuffs behind when you go out bird’s-nesting and all that. Mind, I’ll expect to hear about everything, especially about whether you get warm baths pretty regularly, and if Mr Ladislaw is a good Christian man—and look here, dear,” she continued hurriedly, producing a little parcel from the depths of her pocket, “you’re not to open this till I’m away, and be sure to take care of it, and don’t—”

“That there chimbley,” interrupted the driver at this stage, “is the fust ’ouse in Stonebridge.”

Five minutes later we were standing in the hall of Stonebridge House.

It didn’t look much like a school, I remember thinking. It was a large straggling building, rather like a farmhouse, with low ceilings and rickety stairs. The outside was neat, but not very picturesque, and the front garden seemed to have about as much grass in it as the stairs had carpets. As we stood waiting for some one to answer our ring, I listened nervously, I remember, for any sound or trace of my fellow “backward and troublesome boys,” but the school appeared to be confined to one of the long straggling wings behind, and not to encroach on the state portion of the house.

After a second vigorous pull at the bell by our coachman, a stern and scraggy female put in her appearance.

“Is this Frederick Batchelor?” she inquired, in tones which put my juvenile back up instantly.

“Yes, this is Master Freddy,” put in the nervous Mrs Hudson, anxious to conciliate every one on my behalf. “Freddy, dear, say—”

“Is that his box?” continued the stern dame.

“Yes,” said Mrs Hudson, feeling rather chilled; “that’s his box.”

“Nothing else?”

“No, except his umbrella, and a few—”

“Take the box up to my room,” said the lady to a boy who appeared at this moment. “Where is the key?”

“I’ve got that, marm,” replied Mrs Hudson, warming up a little, “and I should like to go over his things myself as they are unpacked.”

“Wholly unnecessary,” replied the female, holding out her hand for the key. “I see to everything of that kind here.”

“But I mean to open the box!” cried Mrs Hudson, breaking out into a passion quite unusual with her.

I, too, had been getting the steam up privately during the last few minutes, and the sight of Mrs Hudson’s agitation was enough to start the train.

“Yes,” said I, swelling out with indignation, “Mrs Hudson and I are going to open the box. You sha’n’t touch it!”

The female appeared to be not in the least put out by this little display of feeling. In fact, she seemed used to it, for she stood quietly with her arms folded, apparently waiting till we both of us thought fit to subside.

Poor Mrs Hudson was no match for this sort of battle. She lost her control, and expressed herself of things in general, and the female in particular, with a fluency which quite astonished me, and I did my little best to back her up. In the midst of our joint address a gentleman appeared on the scene, whom I correctly divined to be Mr Ladislaw himself.

Mr Ladislaw was a short, dapper man, in rather seedy clothes, with long sandy hair brushed right back over the top of his head, and no hair at all on his face. He might have been thirty, or he might have been fifty. His eyes were very small and close together; his brow was stern,