The summer was come now, and the gardener, an old
sailor, made him a hammock and fixed it up for him
in the branches of a weeping willow. And here
for long hours he lay, hidden from anyone who might
come to the vicarage, reading, reading passionately.
Time passed and it was July; August came: on
Sundays the church was crowded with strangers, and
the collection at the offertory often amounted to
two pounds. Neither the Vicar nor Mrs. Carey
went out of the garden much during this period; for
they disliked strange faces, and they looked upon the
visitors from London with aversion. The house
opposite was taken for six weeks by a gentleman who
had two little boys, and he sent in to ask if Philip
would like to go and play with them; but Mrs. Carey
returned a polite refusal. She was afraid that
Philip would be corrupted by little boys from London.
He was going to be a clergyman, and it was necessary
that he should be preserved from contamination.
She liked to see in him an infant Samuel.
X
The Careys made up their minds to send Philip to King’s
School at Tercanbury. The neighbouring clergy
sent their sons there. It was united by long
tradition to the Cathedral: its headmaster was
an honorary Canon, and a past headmaster was the Archdeacon.
Boys were encouraged there to aspire to Holy Orders,
and the education was such as might prepare an honest
lad to spend his life in God’s service.
A preparatory school was attached to it, and to this
it was arranged that Philip should go. Mr. Carey
took him into Tercanbury one Thursday afternoon towards
the end of September. All day Philip had been
excited and rather frightened. He knew little
of school life but what he had read in the stories
of The Boy’s Own Paper. He had also read
Eric, or Little by Little.
When they got out of the train at Tercanbury, Philip
felt sick with apprehension, and during the drive
in to the town sat pale and silent. The high
brick wall in front of the school gave it the look
of a prison. There was a little door in it, which
opened on their ringing; and a clumsy, untidy man
came out and fetched Philip’s tin trunk and his
play-box. They were shown into the drawing-room;
it was filled with massive, ugly furniture, and the
chairs of the suite were placed round the walls with
a forbidding rigidity. They waited for the headmaster.
“What’s Mr. Watson like?” asked
Philip, after a while.
“You’ll see for yourself.”
There was another pause. Mr. Carey wondered why
the headmaster did not come. Presently Philip
made an effort and spoke again.
“Tell him I’ve got a club-foot,”
he said.
Before Mr. Carey could speak the door burst open and
Mr. Watson swept into the room. To Philip he
seemed gigantic. He was a man of over six feet
high, and broad, with enormous hands and a great red
beard; he talked loudly in a jovial manner; but his
aggressive cheerfulness struck terror in Philip’s
heart. He shook hands with Mr. Carey, and then
took Philip’s small hand in his.
