The schoolmaster was leaving the village, and everybody seemed sorry. The miller at Cresscombelent him the small white tilted cart and horse to carry his goods to the city of his destination, abouttwenty miles off, such a vehicle proving of quite sufficient size for the departing teacher’s effects.For the schoolhouse had been partly furnished by the managers, and the only cumbersome articlepossessed by the master, in addition to the packing-case of books, was a cottage piano that he hadbought at an auction during the year in which he thought of learning instrumental music. But theenthusiasm having waned he had never acquired any skill in playing, and the purchased article hadbeen a perpetual trouble to him ever since in moving house.The rector had gone away for the day, being a man who disliked the sight of changes. He did notmean to return till the evening, when the new school-teacher would have arrived and settled in, andeverything would be smooth again.The blacksmith, the farm bailiff, and the schoolmaster himself were standing in perplexedattitudes in the parlour before the instrument. The master had remarked that even if he got it intothe cart he should not know what to do with it on his arrival at Christminster, the city he was boundfor, since he was only going into temporary lodgings just at first.A little boy of eleven, who had been thoughtfully assisting in the packing, joined the group ofmen, and as they rubbed their chins he spoke up, blushing at the sound of his own voice: Aunthave got a great fuel-house, and it could be put there, perhaps, till you’ve found a place to settle in, sir. A proper good notion, said the blacksmith.It was decided that a deputation should wait on the boy’s aunt-an old maiden resident-and askher if she would house the piano till Mr. Phillotson should send for it. The smith and the bailiffstarted to see about the practicability of the suggested shelter, and the boy and the schoolmasterwere left standing alone. 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 cameunromantically close to the schoolmaster’s life, but one who had attended the night school onlyduring the present teacher’s term of office. The regular scholars, if the truth must be told, stood atthe present moment afar off, like certain historic disciples, indisposed to any enthusiasticvolunteering of aid.The boy awkwardly opened the book he held in his hand, which Mr. Phillotson had bestowed onhim as a parting gift, and admitted that he was sorry. So am I, said Mr. Phillotson.
