"Enjoyed your evening, my dear?" said the doctor.

"Ye-es, papa," said his daughter; "I--"

"Might have enjoyed it more. Really, Helen, it is absurd. That man opposed my theory tooth and nail, and all the time he kept on proving it by indulging that boy. I say you can make what you like of a boy. Now what's he making of that boy?"

"Sir James said he should make him a statesman," said Helen, smiling.

"But he is making him a nuisance instead. Good-night."

"Good-night, papa."

"Oh, by the way, my dear, I shall have to prove my theory."

"Indeed, papa!"

"Yes. Good-night."

CHAPTER FOUR.

THE CHOICE OF A BOY.

Next morning Dr Grayson took his gold-headed cane, and walked down to the workhouse.

Upon dragging at the bell the porter opened the gate obsequiously, and sent a messenger to tell the master Dr Grayson had called.

"Good morning, Hippetts," said the doctor, who being a Poor-Law Guardian, and a wealthy inhabitant of the place, was received with smiles by the important master.

"Good morning, sir. Called to look round."

"No, Hippetts, no," said the doctor, in the tone and manner of one making an inquiry about some ordinary article of merchandise; "got any boys?"

"Boys, sir; the house swarms with them."

"Ah, well, show me some."

"Show you some, sir?"

"Yes. I want a boy."

"Certainly, sir. This way, sir. About what age, sir!"

"Eleven or twelve--not particular," said the doctor. Then to himself: "About the age of young Danby."

"I see, sir," said the master. "Stout, strong, useful boy for a b.u.t.tons."

"Nonsense!" said the doctor testily, "I want a boy to adopt."

"Oh!" said the master staring, and wondering whether rich philosophical Dr Grayson was in his right mind.

He led the way along some whitewashed pa.s.sages, and across a gravel yard, to a long, low building, from which came the well-known humming hum of many voices, among which a kind of chorus could be distinguished, and from time to time the sharp striking of a cane upon a desk, followed by a penetrating "Hush! hush!"

As the master opened the door, a hot puff of stuffy, unpleasantly close air came out, and the noise ceased as if by magic, though there were about three hundred boys in the long, open-roofed room.

The doctor cast his eye round and saw a crowd of heads, the schoolmaster, and besides these--whitewash. The walls, the ceiling, the beams were all whitewashed. The floor was hearth-stoned, but it seemed to be whitewashed, and even the boys' faces appeared to have been touched over with a thin solution laid on with the whitewash brush.

Every eye was turned upon the visitor, and the doctor frowned as he looked round at the pallid, wan-looking, inanimate countenances which offered themselves to his view. The boys were not badly fed; they were clean; they were warmly clad; but they looked as if the food they ate did them no good, and was not enjoyed; as if they were too clean; and as if their clothes were not comfortable. Every face seemed to have been squeezed into the same mould, to grow it into one particular make, which was inexpressive, inanimate, and dull, while they all wore the look of being on the high-road to old-manism without having been allowed to stop and play on the way, and be boys.

"Hush! hush!" came from the schoolmaster, and a pin might have been heard to fall.

The boys devoured the doctor with their eyes. He was a stranger. It was something to see, and it was a break in the horrible monotony of their existence. Had they known the object of the visit, a tremendous yell would have arisen, and it would have been formed of two words--"Take me."

It was considered a model workhouse school, too, one of which the guardians were proud. There was no tyranny, no brutality, but there was endless drill and discipline, and not a sc.r.a.p of that for which every boy's heart naturally yearns;--"Home, sweet home."

No amount of management can make that and deck it with a mother's love; and it must have been the absence of these elements which made the Coleby boys look like three hundred white-faced small old men.

"Now, let me see, sir," said the master; "of course the matter will have to be laid before the Board in the usual form, but you will make your selection now. Good light, sir, to choose."

Mr Hippetts did not mean it unkindly; but he too spoke as if he were busy over some goods he had to sell.

"Let me see. Ah! Coggley, stand out."

Coggley, a very thin boy of thirteen, a little more whitewashy than the rest, stood out, and made a bow as if he were wiping his nose with his right hand, and then curving it out at the doctor.

He was a nice, sad-looking boy, with railways across his forehead, and a pinched-in nose; but he was very thin, and showed his shirt between the top of his trousers and the bottom of his waistcoat, instead of upon his chest, while it was from growth, not vanity, that he showed so much ankle and wrist.

"Very good boy, sir. Had more marks than any one of his age last year."

"Won't do," said the doctor shortly.

"Too thin," said Mr Hippetts to himself. "Bunce!" he shouted.

Bunce stood out, or rather waddled forth, a stoutly-made boy with short legs,--a boy who, if ever he had a chance, would grow fat and round, with eyes like two currants, and a face like a bun.

Bunce made a bow like a scoop upside down.

"Another excellent boy, sir," said Mr Hippetts. "I haven't a fault to find with him. He is now twelve years old, and he--"

"Won't do," said the doctor crossly.

"Go back, Bunce," cried the master. "Pillett, stand out. Now here, sir, is a lad whom I am sure you will like. Writes a hand like copperplate. Age thirteen, and very intelligent."

Pillett came forward eagerly, after darting a triumphant look at Coggley and Bunce. He was a wooden-faced boy, who seemed to have hard brains and a soft head, for his forehead looked nubbly, and there were rounded off corners at the sides.

"Let Dr Grayson hear you say--"

"No, no, Hippetts; this is not an examination," cried the doctor testily. "That is not the sort of boy I want. He must be a bright, intelligent lad, whom I can adopt and take into my house. I shall treat him exactly as if he were my own son, and if he is a good lad, it will be the making of him."