October 4th.—I am going to keep a log. I shall have to do it by-and-by when I am Captain Charles Stewart, and so, as I have been sent to school to prepare for my work in the world by-and-by, this will be helping in the preparation. Mamma often talks about my work in the world, but I am almost sure there is no sea in the world she is thinking about, while to me—well, the sea is all the world to me. But mamma wants me to forget it, and all Uncle Alfred's wonderful stories about it, and that is why I have been sent here to school; but Tom Haslitt is with me, and is not likely to let me forget uncle and his sea yarns. Tom is to be my lieutenant by-and-by, and as he will have to help with the ship's log then, he is to take a turn with this.
It was kind of mamma to arrange for Tom and I to have this little bedroom—cabin, I mean—all to ourselves; but I am afraid she would not be pleased to see how we have rigged it up, considering that she wants me to mount Uncle Charles's office stool by-and-by.
I hope that tarred yarn Tom has stowed away under the bed don't smell too strong. The compasses and charts and bits of boats we've got hanging about are pretty ornaments, and by-and-by, when we get our ship finished, our little cock-loft will be furnished.
I can't say much about the fellows here at present, but they look a very quiet lot, and one with fair hair certainly ought to have it put in curl-papers every night. I shan't have much to say to him, I know; give him a wide berth, and stick close to Tom. If we could only have gone somewhere else, some school where they train sailors, I might learn something, but it will do me no good to come here, I'm sure, and I've told mamma so.
October 6th.—The captain says I must help with the log. I'd rather heave up a couple of hammocks here and bundle these bedsteads out of the window, but I suppose we may look out for squalls if we do too much in the nautical line, for Charley has got into a scrape already. What they want to keep housemaids for at a boys' school I can't think, unless it is that they may go poking about where they are not wanted. I'm sure that rope yarn did not smell much, but she found it out, that housemaid did; and when Charley tried to get it back there was a row.
The fellows here are not so bad, when you come to know them, but I don't think I shall ever like the governor—the Doctor, as everybody calls him—or the under masters either; although I think we shall be able to do very much as we like here, as we have done at home; at least, Charley and I mean to have our own way in most things, if we possibly can.
October 10th.—What a place this is for rows! Everybody looks as mild as turnips, from the governor down to the housemaid that took our yarn. But looks are deceitful, I suppose; at least, Tom and I won't have such a pleasant, easy time as we expected. If things get much worse I shall write and ask mamma to fetch me home; I'm sure she wouldn't let me stop if I didn't like it, for I have always had my own way about everything but this sea scheme, and, like all mothers, she's afraid of the sea, of course—thinks it a monster that will certainly swallow me up.
I don't know what to make of the governor. Yesterday he called me into his room, and gave me a private lecture about duty and conscience, and a lot more about my lessons never being properly learned, and about school being a little world where character was tested, and made stronger and nobler or worse, according as we used our opportunities or yielded to our temptations. I told Tom all about it afterwards, and we laughed over it together; but I cannot forget it, or the grave, earnest way in which the governor spoke—exactly as though he knew that Tom and I had made up our minds not to learn more than we were obliged.
October 14th.—Tom hates keeping the log, but I tell him he will have to do it by-and-by, and so he ought to get his hand in now; but he says we've come to school to have a good time and as much fun as we can. Well, so we have, I suppose; at least, that was all I thought about it until lately; but, somehow, mamma's talk about preparing for our life-work, and the governor's talk about it being a test and trial of character, have got mixed up in my mind, and it has made me remember that mamma is not rich, and that I am her only child, and I shall have to work by-and-by. I mean to work and take care of her, buy a carriage for her to ride in, and everything she wants when I am a captain and have made my fortune. But I am afraid I shall have to begin by running away to sea. I've quite made up my mind to do it, for mamma is more than a little unreasonable about this, she won't even let me talk about it to her. But there, I won't grumble; she's a dear mother, and reasonable enough in everything else, and has always let me have my own way about most things.
Tom has got himself into another scrape, and the governor has threatened to separate us—send Tom to another room and put another fellow in here. I should write home to the mater at once if he did that, for it would upset everything, and the place would be unbearable. Some of the fellows grumbled, too, yesterday, that we were always in the shed they call the workshop instead of in the playground. What is it to them if we like to make boats instead of throwing a ball about? We can do as we like in the playground, I suppose. I hate cricket, that they make such a fuss about here; and if they drag me into playing it they'll soon find I'm no good, and wish me out again.
October 20th.—This is the last chance I shall get of writing in Charley's log, I expect, for I am to be turned out of his cabin, and Miss Chandos is to take my place. I mean to call him "Miss" in the playground now as well as between ourselves, for I hate the thought of his taking my place here. I wonder how Charley will like the young lady. Miss Chandos don't seem to like the prospect much more than I do, but we dare not rebel.
Charley is packing up my traps while I do the log, grumbling all the time, and threatening to serve out Miss Chandos. The young lady will not have it all her own way, I can tell her. There will be lively times with her and Charley. I wish I could stay and see the fun, but I shall hear all about it to-morrow, and Charley has promised to put it all down in the log. He says it will be good fun to read this log over to ourselves by-and-by. We mean to keep it to read on board our ship of an evening, and many a good laugh we shall have over it, I dare say. I wonder whether we shall ever laugh at this turn out. I don't think I ever shall, for Charley and I have always been chums ever since I can remember, so that it seems like—like something dreadful to have him turned over to Miss Chandos.
October 22nd.—No more of dear old Tom's sprawling writing in our log, for I wouldn't take it down into the schoolroom for the other fellows to see; no, not for anything. Yes, poor Tom's gone, and Miss Chandos has arrived. I soon let her know what sort of a welcome she was likely to have from me. Tom's traps had hardly been bundled out before the housemaid came with her hands full, and white-faced Miss Chandos behind her.
"Is this your lady's maid, Miss Chandos?" I asked. "Does she curl your hair and powder your face?"
His face was scarlet enough then, but he only said, "Thank you, Ann; if you will put down those things I will put them into their places."
"Oh, Ann," I said, with a sniff; "you had better come back, Ann, and bring the curl-papers. Or do you use curling-irons?" I asked.
Ann looked indignant, and Chandos too, but neither said a word, and she went out of the room.
When we were left to ourselves, and Chandos had put away some of his things, he suddenly turned round and said, "I hope we shall be friends, Stewart."
I hardly knew what to say for a minute, for I felt surprised and half ashamed of myself; but, thinking of Tom, and what he expected to hear, I made a mock bow, and replied, "Gentlemen must always be friends with a young lady. Tom and I will be delighted, Miss Chandos;" and then I stopped, for such a look came into his fair girl-face as never was seen in a girl's face before, I fancy. There was no more said, and I went downstairs feeling somehow as though I had not got the best of it after all, and that I might even be mistaken in thinking Miss Chandos such a coward. But after a little time spent in the playground with Tom I forgot Miss Chandos and her looks, until Tom reminded me of it, and I promised to let him know everything that happened.
Of course something was bound to happen then. How could I meet Tom in the morning and tell him the young lady had slept in peace, and everything had passed off comfortably? But what could I do? Tom and I generally had some fun throwing our clothes at each other, or shooting paper pellets from under the bedclothes after we had scrambled into bed, until Swain came and took the light away, and then we ducked our heads down and went to sleep. But there was no telling whether Miss Chandos would tumble into bed as quickly as we did. I certainly was not surprised to see her sit down and take up a book that lay on the drawers and begin to read. I let her read in peace for about five minutes, and then snatched it away and flung it across the room. I really did not see that it was a Bible until it was out of my hand; but I did not mean to let Chandos know that, or that I felt sorry for throwing it.
"Don't do that again, Stewart," he said, as he went to pick it up; and I burst out laughing to hide my vexation, and asked when Ann was coming to do his hair.
He took no notice of my question, and I tumbled into bed, wondering what Chandos would do next. I had my pea-shooter and a good supply of pellets ready for whatever happened; but I certainly expected to see him follow my example and tumble into bed. But instead of doing this he kneeled down at the side of the bed as though I had not been there, which rather startled me, for I thought he would and ought to be afraid to attempt it after what I had already done. I waited a minute or two, and then, taking a good aim, hit him right in the back of the neck. It made him start, I could see, and I laughed, though I expected he would jump up and give me a good pommelling the next minute, for it was clear he was no coward, as I had thought at first, and he would never have a better chance of pitching in, if he meant to fight it out. But no, she kept on, and so did I—pop, pop, pop at his head and the back of his neck, until it tingled again, I know. But she wouldn't complain; wanted to make believe she hadn't felt it, and said "Good night," as though I was the most civil and obliging companion in the world. It was plucky, anyhow, and I like pluck; but we shall see who gives in first, Miss Chandos; it will take a good deal to make me tire of pea-shooting, I can tell you, and it will be good practice too.
October 24th.—How Tom and I have laughed over that plucky Miss Chandos! I am not sure that the fellow deserves to be called "Miss" either, for he is plucky right through, I know—the sort of fellow that would walk up to a cannon's mouth without flinching if he was a soldier and it was his duty. What a splendid sailor he would make! I could fancy him steering his ship right under the enemy's guns if it was necessary, but never yielding an inch or knowing when he was beaten. He's beaten me at pea-shooting, and made me feel ashamed of myself. I wonder what Miss Chandos is going to be—a parson, I should think; and he means to do his life-work thoroughly, and is beginning now, as I am in keeping this log.
It seems queer that we shall all be men very soon—some sailors, some soldiers, some lawyers, and some tied to a merchant's desk, which is mother's highest ambition for me. She talks grandly sometimes about merchant princes, and how uncle will give me a share in his business; but I always try to get out of the way, for I mean to run away to sea when the time comes, and I hate to be a hypocrite.
October 30th.—Another row. I knew it would come if they turned us out of our workshop; but the best of the fun is, they don't know who has been up to this mischief, though Tom and I are both suspected, I believe. For a wonder, though, I had no hand in this, I only wish I had. Tom managed cleverly, too, to turn all the farm-yard out as he did—pigs and cows, ducks and hens; and didn't they enjoy their hour's feast in the garden! I fancy I see the governor now as he came rushing out in time to see the last of his dahlias disappear, and then the whooping and helter-skelter charge of the servants, with the governor at the head of the fray. This will be something to laugh over many a night when the wind is blowing great guns, and we are pitching and tossing so that it is impossible to read or write up the ship's log, which we shall have to keep then. The picture of to-day's fun will rise up before us long after everybody else has forgotten it. Plucky Tom! I wish I had had a share of the fun in setting the animals at liberty. I don't dare ask how he did it all yet, for the fuss is at its height, and everybody is being questioned. Of course, suspicions go for nothing, and nobody really saw who did it, and so Tom is not likely to be found out unless he splits himself, which is not very probable, unless somebody else is charged with it, and then of course he would make a clean breast of it.