‘Sorry I am going, Jude?’* asked the latter kindly.
Tears rose into the boy’s eyes; for he was not among the regular
day scholars who came unromantically close to the schoolmaster’s
life, but one who had attended the night school only during the
present teacher’s term of o
ffice. The regular scholars, if the truth
must be told, stood at the present moment afar o
ff, like certain
historic disciples,* indisposed to any enthusiastic volunteering of aid.
The boy awkwardly opened the book he held in his hand, which
Mr. Phillotson had bestowed on him as a parting gift, and admitted
that he was sorry.
‘So am I,’ said Mr. Phillotson.
‘Why do you go, sir?’ asked the boy.
‘Ah––that would be a long story. You wouldn’t understand my
reasons, Jude. You will perhaps when you are older.’
‘I think I should now, sir.’
‘Well––don’t speak of this everywhere. You know what a uni-
versity is, and a university degree? It is the necessary hallmark of a
man who wants to do anything in teaching. My scheme, or dream, is
to be a university graduate, and then to be ordained. By going to live
at Christminster, or near it, I shall be at headquarters, so to speak,
and if my scheme is practicable at all, I consider that being on the
spot will a
fford me a better chance of carrying it out than I should
have elsewhere.’
The smith and his companion returned. Old Miss Fawley’s fuel-
house was dry and eminently practicable; and she seemed willing to
give the instrument standing-room there. It was accordingly left in
the school till the evening, when more hands would be available for
removing it, and the schoolmaster gave a
final glance round.
The boy Jude assisted in loading some small articles, and at nine
o’clock Mr. Phillotson mounted beside his box of books and other
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