After lunch Roma was taken back to the school, with a few extra dollars in her handbag and a box of chocolates. Renny and Adeline turned homeward. He always had disliked motoring and, considering the reckless nature of his driving, it seemed a miracle that he never had had an accident. Now he handed over the wheel to Adeline and relaxed with a cigarette.
Out of the sides of his eyes he saw her clear-cut profile, almost stern in her calm concentration. She drove well, he thought, and it was pleasant to go homeward through the early May afternoon with her at the wheel. He did not like the thought of parting with her, even for so short a time. Almost he wished he were going with her, but then he would miss his favourite season at Jalna. Had he a favourite season? Were they not all dear to him in their turn? As they neared the house he said:
“Take a good look at it. Pretty fine old house, isn’t it? I don’t mean that it’s so handsome, but there’s an air about it. A woman like my grandmother couldn’t live there for nearly seventy years without leaving her mark on it. And there was my grandfather and my father. Men of character.”
“And you, too!” she said eagerly.
“Yes. Me too.… A lot has gone on under that roof. It seems to me that the house knows all about it. Do you think I’m haywire?”
“Oh, no. I feel the same about it.” Always she tried to feel what he did.
“Now when you see Maurice’s place, you’ll see a grander house but to me it hasn’t the same feeling. It’s an old house, built in an old land, by people who had lived there since God knows when. But there was the first house built on this thousand acres —”
“It’s not a thousand acres now, is it?”
“No. Just five hundred. Half of it was sold off, at various times, to get my uncles out of financial difficulties. Now that’s something I’ve never done and never shall do — sell an acre of this land … As I was saying, this is the first house built on it. The primeval forest was hewn down to make way for it. Your great-grandmother came every day to watch the building of it, and before it was quite finished she took to her bed — that same painted leather bed you sleep in — and gave birth to a son there.”
“I wonder if I ever shall,” she said.
“what?”
“Give birth to a son there.”
He looked at her in a moment’s astonishment. “Good Lord, what put that idea into your head?”
“You did.”
The car was at the door. Renny stared at her, then he said — “Well, not for a good many years, I hope.”
“Say when I’m forty?”
He laughed. “Even twenty-five is a long way off.” Then he added seriously, — “There’s room enough at Jalna for you and your husband and Archer and his wife — when the time comes.” Always he was convinced of the elasticity of Jalna and its capacity to shelter all the family.
“It would need to be a castle to have room enough for me and Archer’s wife.”
Renny looked at her inquiringly.
“I’d be bound to hate any woman Archer would choose. He’s conceited and she’d be bound to be conceited.”
“He’ll get over that.”
“She wouldn’t.”
Finch came out of the house. He asked, — “Did you have a nice time, Adeline?”
“You can imagine it. We drove to the school, picked up Roma, took her out to lunch, took her back to the school.”
“Well, it was a satisfaction, I suppose, to tell her goodbye.”
“It always is,” she returned cheerfully.
Renny said, — “Roma grows less like Eden in looks.”
“Does she?” said Finch. “That’s a pity.”
“Still she has his hair and when she smiles there’s a distinct look of him.”
“Let’s hope she inherits his talent.”
The three went into the house where the uncles were waiting to be told all about the visit to Roma.
A visit to another school was in prospect. This was to say goodbye to Adeline’s brother Archer and her cousins, the two young sons of Piers. She looked forward with much pleasure to this because she thought boys’ schools were more interesting than girls’ and because the older cousin, Nooky, was her favourite.
He was a gentle boy of eighteen, tall and fair, with hazel eyes. He would seldom have been in trouble at home or at school, had it not been for the influence of his wild young brother Philip. But this year he had grown fast. He was head boy of the school. He would matriculate at the end of term, bringing honour to the school, the Headrd confidently expected. He felt that he had outgrown Philip. Yet Philip showed him no deference beyond what he was forced to show him as a prefect. At fifteen he was Nooky’s superior in sports. He was so good at football and hockey, at running and jumping, that the sports-minded rds often ignored his escapades. The brothers were much attached to each other and, at home, shared the same room. They looked on Maurice as almost an outsider.
The youngest of the three Whiteoaks, Archer, bearing Alayne’s maiden name, also bore a striking resemblance to her father who had been a professor in a New England university. He had a noble white forehead which sun never noticeably tanned, piercing blue eyes, and a mouth usually set in a sombre line as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Yet when he did consent to give a smile it was one of extraordinary sweetness. It was a disappointment and even a heartache to his mother that physical resemblance was so far all he seemed to bear to her father. She could not have told you what was wrong with Archer’s nature but certainly it seemed to her that a good deal was wrong.
On this day he was one of those who were to be confirmed by the visiting Archbishop. Renny, Alayne, and Adeline were coming for the occasion.
Archer, with the other small boys in his dormitory, had been waked by the early bell, had fallen asleep again. Then had come the slippered steps of Robertson, a prefect, his commanding roar, the leap out of bed and the rush to the lavatory. Archer stood in front of a basin and gingerly washed his face. Hughes, the boy at the next basin, was splashing water over its edge on to the floor and over Archer’s bare feet.
“Stop it!” shouted Archer.
“He wants you to be nice and clean for the ceremony,” said Elton.
Archer threw a handful of water at him. A water fight began. The matron put her head in at the door. Instantly there was order, except from little rosy-faced Elton who found it impossible to obey orders without persuasion. He thrust a wet hand down Archer’s back. Archer writhed away, giving a gurgling yell.
“Come here, Elton,” the matron said sternly.
He went to her, his rosy face shining with wet.
“You are to be confirmed today, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Macqueen.”
“Well, I think you ought to behave properly this morning, don’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Macqueen.”
“If I have any more disturbance from any of you there’ll be trouble, do you hear?”
They all heard and looked at her meekly out of bright mischievous eyes. But the door was scarcely shut behind her when there was a hubbub. The morning was lovely. It was a whole holiday. They could not bring themselves to behave. Archer sprang on Elton and brought him to the floor. They rolled together in the wet. Hughes put his thumb under a tap and sent a spray of water into the face of Trotter, a plump boy, the only child of very rich parents who pampered him. Trotter was always brought to school in a limousine, driven by a chauffeur, instead of coming by train with the mob. Everything he owned was too expensive. Each week a package of fruit, sweets and cake, such as not supplied by the school, arrived by post for him. Trotter was lucky if he got one orange out of the package. Usually it was fallen upon before ever he saw it, opened, and the contents distributed. After holidays he returned from home with his pockets full of money. Then, while it lasted, he had friends of a sort, but his air was so strutting, he was so conscious of his own superiority, that soon he was alone again. His loving parents little realized when they read his letters, so f
ull of his happy doings at school, how miserable he really was.
Now, with the water squirting full in his face, he gasped, ran, stumbled, and one of his fine kid slippers fell off. Instantly it was pounced on, struggled over, hurled into the air, flung down the room, and finally kicked out of the window. Trotter was really roused. He took off his remaining slipper and began to beat Elton with it. The scene was riotous when the door opened and the Head Boy looked in.
The effect was far more startling than if the matron had reappeared. Seldom did the Head Boy condescend to look into the room. Struck motionless the small boys stared questioningly at him.
“Elton and Trotter,” he said, “both of you will go to the prefects’ study after breakfast.”
He left, closing the door quietly behind him.
“It’s a caning for you!” exclaimed Archer. He did a handstand, waving his wet pink feet in the air.
“It will be my forty-second since September!” cried Elton boasting. He kept strict account of his canings and no other boy could rival him in this respect. No boy was better liked by the other boys, the prefects, and the rds. No boy in the school was happier, but he was incorrigible. Rules, for him, were made to be broken. Impositions, being kept in, lectures on behaviour or kindly talks, had no effect whatever on him, rosy-cheeked rascal that he was.
“It will be my first,” mourned Trotter.
All scampered back to their dormitory, which was in an incredible state of disordered bedding and clothes strewn on beds and floor. An observer might well wonder how the boys were able to find their own garments and get into them with such speed. A lover of beauty might well have admired the swift movements of their naked white bodies, from which summer tan was gone and which still retained the charming contours of childhood.
Now more than a hundred boys were gathered for breakfast, standing with bent heads while grace was said. This grace was punctuated by quiet shuffling of feet and low coughs, for colds were plentiful. In this school the boys ranged in age from seven to nineteen — from tender small ones to six-footers. They set about eating their porridge; Elton with gusto, Trotter languidly, Archer Whiteoak not at all, for he disliked anything milky. Alayne had arranged for extra milk for him to drink at recess. This he was able to sell for a few cents a glass to boys who liked it.
After breakfast the Head gave a few instructions about the proceedings of the day. He asked the boys to remember that the day was a serious one when certain of them were to take part in an important spiritual ceremony.
Returning to the prefects’ room Nook had remarked to the group there: “I’ve got Trotter. He is coming for a caning.”
“Trotter!” There was a general show of interest.
There was not one among them who had not wished for this moment, who had not thought that a caning was badly needed by Trotter.
“what is it for?” asked Robertson.
“Fighting in the washroom.”
“who with?”
“Elton. He’s coming too.”
A groan was drawn from the prefects.
“Elton,” groaned Robertson. “I’m worn out with beating that boy!”
“You don’t have to do it,” said Nook. “Nichol will.”
Nichol, a tall dark youth, with a lazy smile, got to his feet with zest. “when are they coming?” he asked.
“Now. They’re at the door.”
A timid knock sounded. At the door’s opening the two small boys came in. Elton looked resigned, almost cheerful, but Trotter very apprehensive.
The prefects turned away, as though occupied with more important affairs. All but Nichol who said:
“Now then, Trotter. Touch your toes.”
Elton spoke up. “Would you mind doing me first, Nichol?” he asked. “I’ve got my pets to feed and I’m late with their breakfast already. And I’ve a trap set in the woods.”
“A trap! You’re not allowed to set traps.”
“Oh, but this isn’t the sort that injures the animal. I want to catch a squirrel and make a pet of it.”
“All right,” Nichol said obligingly, “you touch your toes.”
* * *
Archer Whiteoak, as soon as he was free after breakfast, ran to the lake. There it lay, with its gentle green shores protected by woods and fields. The sky was a clear blue and the round white clouds, barely moved by the breeze, were reflected with dreamy splendour in the lake. Archer squatted by the brink, dabbling his hands in the wet coolness. Now and again he would pounce on some tiny fish swimming in the shelter of reeds and capture one. He would hold it in his hand till its wriggling ceased, then he would return it to the lake, just in time to save its life. From the wharf he could see the largest of the three sailing boats move out on to the lake. Nooky, Robertson, and Nichol were manning it. So they had finished with Elton and Trotter. He saw Elton, running after his brother who was in the fifth form. Their mother was dead and he had promised their father to have a kindly eye on this small boy. Now the second sailing boat moved out on to the lake. Now the third. Now a canoe with two half-naked boys in it. It was the first warm day.
After a while Archer left the lake. He went at an easy jog trot toward the little wood and the fields. As he passed the playing field he saw some sort of game in progress, heard the sports rd shouting directions. In the wood one of the little boys was playing alone. He was very small but quite sufficient unto himself. He was in fact a train. Moving his arms as wheels, making chugging noises in his throat, he passed rigidly along the rails of his fancy. He came to a certain tree, halted, and called out, in a shrill little voice, — “Belleville!” Farther on it was — “Port Hope!” Then — “Kingston!” Clumps of sweet-smelling hepaticas were about him, coming up through the moist dead leaves of last year. The delicate white petals of trilliums were about to unfold, but he saw nothing of them. He was machinery, pure and simple, or the minion of machinery. He gave not the slightest attention to Archer who stood regarding his activities with the deepest pessimism. Archer had no recollection of ever having indulged in such futilities.
He jogged on till suddenly he spied a snake. It was a small green one, sunning itself on the path. In a moment he had it by the tail. He examined it with a coldly critical eye, then jogged on, through the wood, into the field. Now the sun was almost hot. The sound of a bugle came to him from where a cadet was practising.
Two of the younger rds were lying on a grassy knoll in the field. They had gone there to talk and to be away from the boys. Lying there luxuriously they saw Archer approach.
“It’s Whiteoak three,” said one, “with a snake.”
“Oh, Lord,” said the other. “You won’t get away from that kid.”
Archer gave his sweet smile. “Please, sir,” he said, “would you mind looking after my snake for a few minutes?” He placed the tip of the snake’s tail between the reluctant finger and thumb of the rd and ran off.
After a while he returned with a snake in either hand — harmless snakes, but the young rd did not want to touch one. He rolled on to his side and turned his face away. Archer said:
“The first of these snakes may be a Thamnophis Sirtalis, the other may be a Natrix Sipedon. But they’re both very unusual specimens. I must show them to Mr. Wickens. So will you please help me carry them to him?”
“Don’t you think he’ll be too busy this morning to look at them?” asked one of the young men.
“He is never too busy,” returned Archer severely, “to look at specimens.”
Soon the three went, in Indian file, down the little path, Archer leading the way, each of the rds holding gingerly, at arm’s length, a snake. They entered the little wood where the very small boy was still chugging along imaginary railway lines and did not turn his head to look at them. The sunshine was suddenly much brighter, the air very warm. The three snakes, heads down, writhed and stretched.
Having deposited them with the science rd Archer turned his steps toward the tuck shop, which was in charge of a fifth form boy named Yue
ll. As Archer went in he met three small boys coming out each carrying a bottle of ginger ale and a chocolate bar. Inside, on an upturned box, sat Archer’s cousin, Philip Whiteoak, drinking a “coke.” He was a strongly built handsome boy, with bright blue eyes and yellow hair. His cadet uniform was very becoming to him. From his shoulder was suspended his bugle. It was he whom Archer had heard sounding the Reveille. He had just rded it and was so fascinated he could scarcely keep the bugle from his lips.
Yuell, rearranging his wares, turned to Archer.
“Want something?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Archer, “but I haven’t any money.”
“Then you’d better clear out.”
Philip set down the empty bottle. “Give him a coke on me,” he said.
Yuell did and Philip picked up his bugle. He sounded the Reveille with vigour, his eyes growing prominent from the effort and his cheeks pink. Archer, the bottle to his lips, looked at him with respect.
“Pretty good,” said Yuell. “Almost perfect.”
“Almost?” Philip stared, not pleased.
“Well, what do you think?”
“Oh, I guess it could have been better.”
“I think it was pretty good,” said Archer.
It was cheek for him to offer an opinion.
“A lot you know about bugling,” said Philip. He put the bugle to his lips and again sounded the Reveille.
The spring air was shattered like fine glass by the ringing notes.
“How’s that?” asked Philip.
Yuell answered, — “Fine.”
Archer was silent.
“Have you anything to say against it?” Philip demanded.
“Keep practising,” said Archer, “and you’ll do it right.” He set down his empty bottle and stalked out. He was so remarkably straight that his neck had a look of arrogant stiffness.
He went to the lake and there found a canoe not in use. He arranged himself in it and took up the paddle. Dipping it gently he moved out across the shining surface of the lake. He saw the raised head of a snake as it swam toward the reedy shore. He envied it its freedom. To be a water snake, free to do as it liked on land or in water, at no one’s bidding. He liked snakes better than he liked most people. He never wanted to beat them with sticks — to kill them, as some of the boys did.
Books 13-16: Return to Jalna / Renny's Daughter / Variable Winds at Jalna / Centenary at Jalna Page 55
