It was a new light to him to find that, besides teaching the sixth, and
governing and guiding the whole School, editing classics, and writing
histories, the great headmaster had found time in those busy years
to watch over the career even of him, Tom Brown, and his particular
friends, and, no doubt, of fifty other boys at the same time, and all
this without taking the least credit to himself, or seeming to know, or
let any one else know, that he ever thought particularly of any boy at
all.
However, the Doctor's victory was complete from that moment over Tom
Brown at any rate. He gave way at all points, and the enemy marched
right over him--cavalry, infantry, and artillery, and the land transport
corps, and the camp followers. It had taken eight long years to do it;
but now it was done thoroughly, and there wasn't a corner of him left
which didn't believe in the Doctor. Had he returned to School again, and
the Doctor begun the half-year by abolishing fagging, and football, and
the Saturday half-holiday, or all or any of the most cherished School
institutions, Tom would have supported him with the blindest faith. And
so, after a half confession of his previous shortcomings, and sorrowful
adieus to his tutor, from whom he received two beautifully-bound volumes
of the Doctor's sermons, as a parting present, he marched down to the
Schoolhouse, a hero-worshipper, who would have satisfied the soul of
Thomas Carlyle himself.
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