and
fife of a recruiting party, he followed them off to the army. He
returned not long since, out of money, and out at elbows, the prodigal
son of the village. He remained for some time lounging about the place
in half-tattered soldier's dress, with a foraging cap on one side of his
head, jerking stones across the brook, or loitering about the tavern
door, a burthen to his father, and regarded with great coldness by all
warm householders.

[Illustration: The Prodigal]

Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards the youth. It might be
the kindness he bore to his father, who is one of the schoolmaster's
greatest cronies; it might be that secret sympathy, which draws men of
vagrant propensities towards each other; for there is something truly
magnetic in the vagabond feeling; or it might be, that he remembered the
time when he himself had come back, like this youngster, a wreck to his
native place. At any rate, whatever the motive, Slingsby drew towards
the youth. They had many conversations in the village tap-room about
foreign parts, and the various scenes and places they had witnessed
during their wayfaring about the world. The more Slingsby talked with
him, the more he found him to his taste, and finding him almost as
learned as himself, he forthwith engaged him as an assistant or usher in
the school.

Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may be supposed, flourishes
apace; and if the scholars do not become versed in all the holiday
accomplishments of the good old times, to the squire's heart's content,
it will not be the fault of their teachers. The prodigal son has become
almost as popular among the boys as the pedagogue himself. His
instructions are not limited to school hours; and having inherited the
musical taste and talents of his father, he has bitten the whole school
with the mania. He is a great hand at beating a drum, which is often
heard rumbling from the rear of the school-house. He is teaching half
the boys of the village, also, to play the fife, and the pandean pipes;
and they weary the whole neighbourhood with their vague piping, as they
sit perched on stiles, or loitering about the barn-doors in the
evenings. Among the other exercises of the school, also, he has
introduced the ancient art of archery, one of the squire's favourite
themes, with such success, that the whipsters roam in truant bands about
the neighbourhood, practising with their bows and arrows upon the birds
of the air,