"
"Every place and thing one sees here reminds one of some wise act of
his," went on the master. "This island now--you remember the time,
Brown, when it was laid out in small gardens, and cultivated by
frost-bitten fags in February and March?"
"Of course I do," said Tom; "didn't I hate spending two hours in the
afternoon grubbing in the tough dirt with the stump of a fives bat? But
turf-cart was good fun enough."
"I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights with the
townspeople; and then the stealing flowers out of all the gardens in
Rugby for the Easter show was abominable."
"Well, so it was," said Tom, looking down, "but we fags couldn't help
ourselves. But what has that to do with the Doctor's ruling?"
"A great deal, I think," said the master; "what brought island-fagging
to an end?"
"Why, the Easter speeches were put off till midsummer," said Tom, "and
the sixth had the gymnastic poles put up here."
"Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, and put the idea of
gymnastic poles into the heads of their worships the sixth form?" said
the master.
"The Doctor, I suppose," said Tom. "I never thought of that."
"Of course you didn't," said the master, "or else, fag as you were,
you would have shouted with the whole school against putting down old
customs. And that's the way that all the Doctor's reforms have been
carried out when he has been left to himself--quietly and naturally,
putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and letting the bad die out;
no wavering, and no hurry--the best thing that could be done for the
time being, and patience for the rest.
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