Mildred Arkell: A Novel. Vol. 3 (of 3) — John Shaqi
Mildred Arkell: A Novel. Vol. 3 (of 3)Wood, Henry, Mrs.
General
Mildred Arkell: A Novel. Vol. 3 (of 3)
Wood, Henry, Mrs.
Fiction
"Remain where you are, Hardcast," foamed Prattleton. "I dare you to
stir."
Hardcast, a little chap of ten, was already off, but he turned round at
the word. "I am not under your orders, Mr. Prattleton, when the senior
chorister's present."
A few minutes, and then the Reverend Mr. Wilberforce, in his surplice
and hood, was seen advancing. Hardcast had fetched him out of the
chanting-desk.
"What's all this? what hubbub are you boys making? I'll flog you all
to-morrow. Arkell, Prattleton, what's the matter?"
"I thought it better to send for you, sir, than to have a disturbance
here," said Arkell.
"A disturbance here! You had better not attempt it."
"Don't the king's scholars take precedence of the choristers, sir?"
demanded Prattleton.
"No, they don't," returned the master. "If you have not been years
enough in the college to know the rules, Mr. Prattleton, you had better
return to the bottom of school, and learn them. Arkell, in this place,
you have the command. King's scholars move down, and be quick over it:
and I'll flog you all round," concluded Mr. Wilberforce, "if you strike
up a dispute in college again."
The master turned tail, and strode back as fast as his short legs would
carry him: for the dean and chapter, marshalled by a verger and the
bedesmen, were crossing the cathedral; and a flourish of trumpets,
outside, told of the approach of the judges. The Reverend Mr.
Wilberforce was going to take the chanting for an old minor canon whose
voice was cracked, and he would hardly recover breath to begin.
The choristers all grinned at the master's decision, save Arkell and
Aultane, junior: the latter, though second chorister, took part with
Prattleton, because he hated Arkell; and as the judges passed in their
flowing scarlet robes with the trains held up behind, and their imposing
wigs, so terrible to look at, the bows of the choristers were much more
gracious than those of the king's scholars. The additional mob, teeming
in after the judges' procession, was unlimited; and a rare field had the
boys and their pins that day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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