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Updated: June 10, 2025
All Willoughby boys could swim, and as Mr Parrett had taught most of them to do so himself, he hardly stood in need of the help of his three pupils. A few strokes brought them all to the bank in safety. An uncomfortable moment ensued. Mr Parrett said nothing to the three dripping boys who stood before him, but called to the boys in the boat to row in, bringing the skiff with them.
He has worked on their enthusiasm without stint, and next best to that, he has not so much hammered into them what they ought to do, as he has hammered out of them what they ought not to do. Three fellows out of five never think of that." "I'm sure they don't," said Fairbairn. "See how steady they were all the innings, too!" continued Mr Parrett.
Then when he was within a few yards he started up, and with a wild shout of, "Yah booh, cad!" gave the signal to his crew to pull on, and brought his boat close alongside the skiff. The rower, startled by the sudden shout, turned quickly round. Horror of horrors! It was Mr Parrett himself! There was no time to do anything.
Boys didn't give Mr Parrett credit for all the self-denial he really underwent; for he had a way of seeming to enjoy even the drudgery of his self-imposed work, and it rarely occurred even to the most hopeless of "duffers" to imagine that all the trouble spent over him was anything but a pleasure to the master who spent it.
We wouldn't have done it if we thought it was you, sir indeed we wouldn't." "No, sir, that we wouldn't," chimed in the chorus. "And who did you think it was, pray?" inquired Mr Parrett. "A schoolhouse fellow," replied Parson, avoiding Telson's glances. "Which schoolhouse boy?" asked the master. "Any one, sir. It didn't matter much which." "Indeed.
Approaching it now, through the fragrant orchards amid which it seemed to drowse in Arcadian peace beside the waters of the Parrett, sparkling in the morning sunlight, Mr. Blood might have had a difficulty in believing it part of a world tormented by strife and bloodshed.
"Go it, you cripples!" cries Cusack, encouragingly; "no milksop captains. Two to one on Bloomfield!" All this time the boats are lying in position. Mr Parrett on the little steam-launch behind surveys them critically, and satisfies himself that all is square. Then he advances to the prow of his boat and shouts the usual question.
It is a long tract of morass lying between the foot of the Polden Hills and the Parrett River, but with a fringe of somewhat higher ground along the latter, where are Weston Zoyland, Chedzoy, and Middlezoy, each a hamlet clustering around its old church, that at Weston Zoyland being surmounted by an attractive square tower over one hundred feet high.
For a few minutes, as the disconcerted and terrified youngsters stood in a small band at Parson's study-door and watched Mr Parrett slowly retreat down the passage, it seemed as if the final crisis in the career of every one present had arrived. It would have been bad enough to be caught in the midst of a simple free fight and sent up to the doctor. But the case was far more terrible than that!
You ask Parrett," said he, in tones of manly appeal. "Then you mean Mr Parrett has already punished you?" asked Riddell. "Rather," said Telson. "I'd sooner have had a licking any day than get stopped river-play. Wouldn't you, Parson?" "I should think I would," said Parson. "Well," said Riddell, dubiously, "of course if Mr Parrett has already punished you " "You ask him!" again said Parson.
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