Two boys had been horsed and brushed up
well, which had strengthened the conscience of all the rest, while sobs
and rubs of the part affected diffused a tender silence. Dr. Swinks,
the head-master, was leaning back in his canopied oaken chair, with the
pride inspired by noble actions.
"What wonderfully good boys!" Dolly whispered, as she peeped in through
the dark porch with Faith, while her father was giving the horses in
charge to the hostler from the inn across the way; "I declare that I
shall be frightened even to look at Mr. Scudamore, if this is a specimen
of what he does. There is scarcely a boy looking off his book. But
how old he does look! I suppose it must be the effect of so much hard
teaching."
"You silly thing," her sister answered; "you are looking at the great
head-master. Mr. Scudamore is here at the bottom of the school. Between
these big hinges you can see him; and he looks as young as you do."
Miss Dolly, who dearly loved any sly peep, kept her light figure back
and the long skirt pulled in, as she brought her bright eyes to the slit
between the heavy black door and the stone-work. And she speedily gave
her opinion.
"He is nothing but a regular frump. I declare I am dreadfully
disappointed. No wonder the title did not come on! He is nothing but a
very soft-natured stupe. Why, the boys can do what they like with him!"
Certainly the scholars of the Virgil class, which Blyth Scudamore was
dealing with, had recovered from the querimonies of those two sons of
Ovid, on the further side of Ister, and were having a good laugh at the
face of "Captain Scuddy," as they called their beloved preceptor.
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