The Schoolboy’s Story Page #3

"The Schoolboy’s Story" is a poignant short story by Charles Dickens that reflects on the experiences of a young schoolboy. Set in a grim educational environment, the narrative captures the child's perspective, highlighting the challenges of school life, the expectations of authority, and the longing for freedom and understanding. Through rich, evocative prose, Dickens explores themes of innocence, hardship, and the emotional struggles faced by children, ultimately serving as a critique of the education system of his time. The story conveys a sense of nostalgia and empathy for youth, urging readers to consider the impact of their own formative experiences.

• Short story

								

at his hands.  At the close of his observations he would make a signal to
a Prizefighter concealed in the passage, who would then appear and pitch
into the Reverend, till he was left insensible.  Old Cheeseman would then
make Jane a present of from five to ten pounds, and would leave the
establishment in fiendish triumph.

The President explained that against the parlour part, or the Jane part,
of these arrangements he had nothing to say; but, on the part of the
Society, he counselled deadly resistance.  With this view he recommended
that all available desks should be filled with stones, and that the first
word of the complaint should be the signal to every fellow to let fly at
Old Cheeseman.  The bold advice put the Society in better spirits, and
was unanimously taken.  A post about Old Cheeseman’s size was put up in
the playground, and all our fellows practised at it till it was dinted
all over.

When the day came, and Places were called, every fellow sat down in a
tremble.  There had been much discussing and disputing as to how Old
Cheeseman would come; but it was the general opinion that he would appear
in a sort of triumphal car drawn by four horses, with two livery servants
in front, and the Prizefighter in disguise up behind.  So, all our
fellows sat listening for the sound of wheels.  But no wheels were heard,
for Old Cheeseman walked after all, and came into the school without any
preparation.  Pretty much as he used to be, only dressed in black.

“Gentlemen,” said the Reverend, presenting him, “our so long respected
friend and fellow-pilgrim in the pleasant plains of knowledge, is
desirous to offer a word or two.  Attention, gentlemen, one and all!”

Every fellow stole his hand into his desk and looked at the President.
The President was all ready, and taking aim at old Cheeseman with his
eyes.

What did Old Cheeseman then, but walk up to his old desk, look round him
with a queer smile as if there was a tear in his eye, and begin in a
quavering, mild voice, “My dear companions and old friends!”

Every fellow’s hand came out of his desk, and the President suddenly
began to cry.

“My dear companions and old friends,” said Old Cheeseman, “you have heard
of my good fortune.  I have passed so many years under this roof—my
entire life so far, I may say—that I hope you have been glad to hear of
it for my sake.  I could never enjoy it without exchanging
congratulations with you.  If we have ever misunderstood one another at
all, pray, my dear boys, let us forgive and forget.  I have a great
tenderness for you, and I am sure you return it.  I want in the fulness
of a grateful heart to shake hands with you every one.  I have come back
to do it, if you please, my dear boys.”

Since the President had begun to cry, several other fellows had broken
out here and there: but now, when Old Cheeseman began with him as first
boy, laid his left hand affectionately on his shoulder and gave him his
right; and when the President said “Indeed, I don’t deserve it, sir; upon
my honour I don’t;” there was sobbing and crying all over the school.
Every other fellow said he didn’t deserve it, much in the same way; but
Old Cheeseman, not minding that a bit, went cheerfully round to every
boy, and wound up with every master—finishing off the Reverend last.

Then a snivelling little chap in a corner, who was always under some
punishment or other, set up a shrill cry of “Success to Old Cheeseman!
Hooray!”  The Reverend glared upon him, and said, “Mr. Cheeseman, sir.”
But, Old Cheeseman protesting that he liked his old name a great deal
better than his new one, all our fellows took up the cry; and, for I
don’t know how many minutes, there was such a thundering of feet and
hands, and such a roaring of Old Cheeseman, as never was heard.

After that, there was a spread in the dining-room of the most magnificent
kind.  Fowls, tongues, preserves, fruits, confectionaries, jellies,
neguses, barley-sugar temples, trifles, crackers—eat all you can and
pocket what you like—all at Old Cheeseman’s expense.  After that,
speeches, whole holiday, double and treble sets of all manners of things
for all manners of games, donkeys, pony-chaises and drive yourself,
dinner for all the masters at the Seven Bells (twenty pounds a-head our
fellows estimated it at), an annual holiday and feast fixed for that day
every year, and another on Old Cheeseman’s birthday—Reverend bound down
before the fellows to allow it, so that he could never back out—all at
Old Cheeseman’s expense.

And didn’t our fellows go down in a body and cheer outside the Seven
Bells?  O no!

But there’s something else besides.  Don’t look at the next story-teller,
for there’s more yet.  Next day, it was resolved that the Society should
make it up with Jane, and then be dissolved.  What do you think of Jane
being gone, though!  “What?  Gone for ever?” said our fellows, with long
faces.  “Yes, to be sure,” was all the answer they could get.  None of
the people about the house would say anything more.  At length, the first
boy took upon himself to ask the Reverend whether our old friend Jane was
really gone?  The Reverend (he has got a daughter at home—turn-up nose,
and red) replied severely, “Yes, sir, Miss Pitt is gone.”  The idea of
calling Jane, Miss Pitt!  Some said she had been sent away in disgrace
for taking money from Old Cheeseman; others said she had gone into Old
Cheeseman’s service at a rise of ten pounds a year.  All that our fellows
knew, was, she was gone.

It was two or three months afterwards, when, one afternoon, an open
carriage stopped at the cricket field, just outside bounds, with a lady
and gentleman in it, who looked at the game a long time and stood up to
see it played.  Nobody thought much about them, until the same little
snivelling chap came in, against all rules, from the post where he was
Scout, and said, “It’s Jane!”  Both Elevens forgot the game directly, and
ran crowding round the carriage.  It was Jane!  In such a bonnet!  And
if you’ll believe me, Jane was married to Old Cheeseman.

It soon became quite a regular thing when our fellows were hard at it in
the playground, to see a carriage at the low part of the wall where it
joins the high part, and a lady and gentleman standing up in it, looking
over.  The gentleman was always Old Cheeseman, and the lady was always
Jane.

The first time I ever saw them, I saw them in that way.  There had been a
good many changes among our fellows then, and it had turned out that Bob
Tarter’s father wasn’t worth Millions!  He wasn’t worth anything.  Bob
had gone for a soldier, and Old Cheeseman had purchased his discharge.
But that’s not the carriage.  The carriage stopped, and all our fellows
stopped as soon as it was seen.

“So you have never sent me to Coventry after all!” said the lady,
laughing, as our fellows swarmed up the wall to shake hands with her.
“Are you never going to do it?”

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