Great was the grief amongst the village school-boys when Tom drove off
with the Squire, one August morning, to meet the coach on his way to
school. Each of them had given him some little present of the best that
he had, and his small private box was full of peg-taps, white marbles
(called "alley-taws" in the Vale), screws, birds' eggs, whip-cord,
jews-harps, and other miscellaneous boys' wealth. Poor Jacob
Doodle-calf, in floods of tears, had pressed upon him with spluttering
earnestness his lame pet hedgehog (he had always some poor broken-down
beast or bird by him); but this Tom had been obliged to refuse, by the
Squire's order. He had given them all a great tea under the big elm in
their playground, for which Madam Brown had supplied the biggest cake
ever seen in our village; and Tom was really as sorry to leave them
as they to lose him, but his sorrow was not unmixed with the pride and
excitement of making a new step in life.
And this feeling carried him through his first parting with his mother
better than could have been expected. Their love was as fair and whole
as human love can be--perfect self-sacrifice on the one side meeting
a young and true heart on the other. It is not within the scope of my
book, however, to speak of family relations, or I should have much to
say on the subject of English mothers--ay, and of English fathers, and
sisters, and brothers too.
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