Jessie

Ronald and Otis occupied the same chamber. It was in the second story of the house, and had two windows, one looking to the north-east and the other to the south-east. At this season of the year, Ronald was obliged to rise soon after day-break, to attend to his work. He was very apt to feel sleepy in the morning, and Marcus, who was an early riser, usually called him when it was time to get up. Otis, being a boarder, did not rise so early, but commonly slept until the sun poured its light into the chamber through the north-east window, and sometimes long after. He was, in fact, rather fond of his bed.

On the morning of the first day of April, Ronald played quite a serious trick upon his room-mate, by way of celebrating “All Fools’ day.” The windows of their chamber happened to be provided with old-fashioned tight shutters, which, however, were not now used, curtains having been substituted for them. On the morning in question, Ronald arose very slyly, at early day-break, and commenced disarranging and secreting the several articles of Otis’s every-day apparel. One of his suspenders he hid under the bed-clothes, and the other he tied into knots; he turned the legs of his pantaloons and the sleeves of his jacket inside out; deposited one stocking in his jacket pocket, and crowded the other into the toe of his shoe; hid the other shoe on the upper shelf of the closet, after emptying into it the contents of his trousers pockets; and, in short, put things into such a plight, that he supposed it would take Otis at least an hour to dress himself. He then closed the shutters, and left the room, carefully shutting the door, lest the movements of the rest of the family should disturb the sleeper.

Otis did not make his appearance at the breakfast table, when the bell rang, but as this had occasionally happened before, it did not excite any surprise. The table was left standing for him, after breakfast, and the several members of the family went about their business. Ronald, somewhat to his disappointment, was despatched to school nearly an hour before the usual time, that he might do an errand in a distant part of the town, on his way. Before he started, he crept up to the door of his chamber, and, listening, heard the loud breathing of Otis, as if still asleep. As he passed out through the dining-room, he noticed a clean plate and knife at Otis’s place, and impelled by the spirit of mischief which had taken possession of him, he snatched them from the table, and put dirty ones in their place. A moment after, Jessie came in, and began to clear off the table, when Miss Lee, who was in the kitchen, seeing Ronald about to leave, said:

“Before you go, Ronald, I wish you would run up stairs and call Otis—he hasn’t been to breakfast yet.”

“Yes, ma’am, he’s been to breakfast and gone,” said Jessie, deceived by the appearance of the table.

“Then he was very quick about it, for I haven’t seen him this morning,” said Miss Lee.

Ronald said nothing, but, availing himself of Jessie’s mistake, hurried away without calling Otis, congratulating himself that his plot had worked so admirably. After doing his errand, he had time and opportunity to fool several of his school-mates, which he diligently improved. He made one simple boy believe that his back was covered with chalk, and thank him for drubbing it off in vigorous style, when there was not a particle of chalk upon the poor fellow’s jacket. He exhibited to a group of boys what he called a “railroad whistle.” It looked like an ordinary whistle, with a number of holes on the top, but he represented it as having remarkable power, if a boy only had wind enough to sound it. One of the boys, more curious than wise, gave it a vigorous blast, and blew into his face a cloud of flour, with which the whistle had been filled, to the great amusement of all who witnessed the experiment.

Ronald was born and lived for eight years among a people of French extraction, in Canada. He still remembered some of the habits and customs of his native village, among which was the observance of Easter. Easter is a festival in commemoration of the resurrection of Christ, and is quite generally observed in European countries. It occurs about the first of April. In some countries, it is customary to give eggs to the children, on this occasion, which are ornamented in various ways. In Ronald’s native town, the children used to boil their Easter eggs in water containing a dye of some color, by which the shells became red, blue, purple, or of any other hue that was desired. If they wished to inscribe a name or ornament on an egg, they first plunged it into hot water, and then wrote the name or drew the design on the shell with tallow. The egg was then boiled in the colored water, but the dye would not penetrate any part of the shell which had been covered with grease, and consequently the ornament or inscription would appear white.

Ronald had been indulged in his Easter eggs every year since he was adopted into Mrs. Page’s family. He called them Easter eggs, but they might more appropriately have been termed “April-Fool” eggs, for, regardless of the ecclesiastical calendar, the first day of the fourth month was always Easter to him. He carried several of these stained eggs to school, on the morning whose history I am recounting; and after the “railroad whistle” experiment, he exhibited them to some of the girls. They were blue, with white fillets around them, and looked quite pretty. Somebody inquiring about their strength, Ronald said they were boiled very hard, and would stand a pretty smart blow. He said he boiled them as soon as they were laid, which was the way to do, if you wanted a real hard egg. He invited two of the girls to make a trial of their hardness, by each taking an egg in her hand, and striking them together, promising that the egg which stood the test should be the property of the one who held it. They did so, and at the first trial, neither egg was damaged, the blow being too light. The next time, however, one of the eggs was crushed, but the other was uninjured.

The girl who won the blue egg, refused to hazard it again in a trial with an uncolored boiled egg, which Ronald wished her to submit it to. So Ronald drew from his pocket a second white egg, and persuaded Kate Sedgwick and another girl to a trial of strength, similar to the first. Each held the egg firmly in her palm, and measured the distance carefully with her eye, and then, after a moment’s pause, came the shock, the crash, and the smash. And a smash it was indeed; for the egg Kate held was just as raw and tender as when biddy laid it, and in the rude encounter, its liquid contents spirted out in an astonishing manner upon both the contestants, but especially upon Kate. The fragments that remained in her hand she hurled at Ronald’s head, but the rogue was too spry for her, and they fell short of the mark.

It would have been strange if a boy who was so active as Ronald in playing off his pranks upon others, had himself wholly escaped from similar practical jokes. But he did not. One trick was played upon him, which annoyed him very much. Some one, he could not ascertain who, spread upon his seat a quantity of soft pitch, upon which he unsuspiciously sat. The sticky gum adhered so pertinaciously to his clothing, that he could not remove it, but through the day, whenever he attempted to make the slightest movement upon his seat, he found himself held fast by an invisible power.

When the morning session of the academy opened, Marcus was not a little surprised to discover that Otis was missing. He went to Ronald’s seat and asked where he was.

“I don’t know,” replied Ronald.

“Didn’t he go with you to Mr. Bright’s, this morning?” inquired Marcus.

“No, sir, I haven’t seen him since I got up,” replied Ronald.

“But haven’t you any idea where he is?” continued Marcus.

“I don’t know where he can be, unless he’s abed,” said Ronald.

“A-bed this time of day! How can that be?” exclaimed Marcus.

Ronald made no farther reply, and Marcus then questioned Kate, Jessie and Oscar, but none of them could say they had seen Otis, that morning. Meanwhile, Aunt Fanny was making quite as surprising a discovery at home, as Marcus made at school. She went up stairs, to take care of the boys’ room, and found Otis asleep, and the room as dark as at night.

“Why, Otis Sedgwick! are you asleep yet?” exclaimed Aunt Fanny, shaking the boy by the shoulder. “Come, wake up! It’s after nine o’clock.”

“Is it this morning, or last night?” inquired the drowsy and bewildered boy, rubbing his eyes, as if to let the day-light into them.

Aunt Fanny pulled open the shutters, and the sun, two hours and a half high, came streaming in upon the bed, to the astonishment of Otis.

“This is one of Ronald’s tricks, I suppose,” said Aunt Fanny. “But he has carried the joke altogether too far. You are too late to go to school this forenoon.”

“Well, this is a pretty piece of business, I do think,” said Otis, who now began to comprehend the joke that had been played upon him.

Aunt Fanny withdrew, telling Otis she would go and prepare his breakfast. After waiting some time, as the boy did not appear, she again went to his room, to call him. She found him partly dressed, and crying with vexation because he could not find the rest of his apparel. With her aid, the missing articles were soon found, and Otis sat down to his breakfast, in not a very pleasant mood, about half-past nine o’clock.

Otis went to school in the afternoon. He at once informed Marcus of the cause of his absence, but he kept out of the way of Ronald, with whom he felt offended. At recess, Ronald determined to speak to Otis, and he did.

“Hullo, Otis,” he said, “why didn’t you come to school, this morning?”

Otis took no notice of the question, except to turn away from his persecutor.

“Sun didn’t rise as early as common, did it?” continued Ronald, laughing.

Otis made no reply.

“Come, now,” added Ronald, laying his arm over the shoulder of Otis, “don’t get mad with a fellow for a joke—it was all in fun, you know.”

“It was fun to you, but it wasn’t to me,” replied Otis, slipping away from under Ronald’s arm, and leaving him alone.

Ronald felt rather sober after this decided rebuff. He began to realize that a joke carried too far, is no joke at all; the difficulty with which he moved about on his pitchy seat, helping him materially to this conclusion. After school, he walked home alone, in advance of the others, who, by the way, were discussing his conduct with much interest. Kate and Otis told how they had been served, and several other jokes of Ronald were related. All concurred in the opinion that the custom of “making fools” of each other on the first of April, was a senseless one, and very liable to abuses. Still, Marcus said it was not worth while to get angry about such things, and he tried to make Otis forget the resentment which it was evident he felt towards Ronald.

On reaching his home, Marcus learned from his mother some facts in regard to Ronald’s trick upon Otis, which made it even more serious than it at first appeared. In carrying it out, it appeared he had really been guilty of something that looked very much like disobedience and falsehood, and had fooled several others besides Otis. When spoken to, however, Ronald seemed unwilling to admit that he had done anything blameworthy, and was especially astonished when he was charged with doing violence to the truth. He defended himself against this latter charge with considerable ingenuity, contending that if any falsehood was told, Jessie was the guilty one.

“I think,” said Marcus, after talking with him awhile, “we had better have a court to try this case, as it involves some important principles.”

“Well, I’ll agree to that,” replied Ronald. “Give me a fair trial, and if I’m beat, I won’t say a word.”

A custom had been introduced into the family of occasionally holding a court to try offences of a peculiar nature. When there was some doubt as to the measure of blame due to an offender, or when it was uncertain to whom the blame principally belonged, or when important moral principles were involved in a wrong act, or when disputes arose about perplexing points, the affair was sometimes settled by resolving the family into a court to try the case. This was what Marcus now proposed to do; and, as Ronald agreed to it, the evening of the next day was appointed for holding the court, and all concerned were immediately notified, that suitable preparation might be made.

In these little courts, no attempt was made to imitate the cumbrous machinery, the solemn dignity, the slow and formal movements, or the “glorious uncertainty,” which usually characterize the tribunals established by law. Instead of a long indictment, setting forth a simple act in all sorts of wicked shapes, and magnifying and multiplying it till it looked like a dozen huge crimes, stuck together, the court I am describing based their action on a simple complaint, written in plain, unexaggerating language. They had no constable, sheriff, clerk or crier, because they did not need them. A judge, two lawyers, (one to prosecute and the other to defend the accused,) a jury, (usually consisting of two or three persons,) witnesses, and a prisoner, were all the functionaries necessary to this court. The law they administered was that “common law” written in every unperverted heart, and their statute book was the Bible.

The trial of Ronald commenced early on the evening appointed. Marcus presided as judge. Oscar was the prosecuting attorney. As the accused intended to conduct his own defence, no counsel appeared for him. Mrs. Page, Kate, and Jessie’s brother Henry, who happened to be present, were the jury. Miss Lee, Jessie and Otis were summoned as witnesses.

After the court had come to order, the prosecuting attorney arose, and said that several complaints had been made against the accused, very similar in their character, all of them being for improper and unwarrantable jokes perpetrated on the first day of April. He thought, however, that the ends of justice would be sufficiently met by trying the prisoner for only one of these offences. He then read the indictment, or complaint, which was drawn up with care, and was in the following form:

“I hereby charge Ronald D. Page with entering into an unjustifiable plot on the morning of the first day of April, 185–, to detain his room-mate, Otis Sedgwick, in his chamber until an unusual hour, which design he carried out by darkening the room, displacing and disarranging the clothing of said Sedgwick, and closing the door, contrary to his usual custom, thereby keeping said room-mate in his chamber until it was too late to go to school; which act was against the peace, dignity and good order of the family.

“I also charge said Page with disobedience, in neglecting to call said Sedgwick, when told to do so by Miss Lee.

“I also charge said Page with being virtually guilty of falsehood, inasmuch as he deceived Miss Hapley by removing certain articles from the breakfast table, and allowed an erroneous statement, which she made in consequence, to go uncorrected.

A copy of this complaint had been given to Ronald in the morning, that he might know precisely what points he had got to meet. He at first doubted whether it would be right to plead not guilty to all the charges, as he admitted that he played the joke upon Otis, referred to in the first charge. But Marcus explained that while he admitted the acts specified, he might if he chose deny the bad character ascribed to them in the complaint. He said that if Ronald did not believe his April-fool trick upon Otis was “unjustifiable,” and “against the peace, dignity and good order of the family,” he had a moral as well as legal right to plead not guilty to the complaint. Accordingly, when the complaint was read in court, and the judge asked the accused whether he was guilty or not guilty, the reply was, “Not guilty.”

The witnesses were now introduced. Otis first appeared, and related all that he knew about the trick that had been played upon him. After he had got through, Ronald put a few questions to him.

“Do you generally know what is going on when you are sound asleep?” inquired the accused.

“No,” replied the witness.

“How, then, do you know that I did the mischief?”

“Because—because I know you did it.”

“Did you see me do it?”

“No.”

“Did you hear me?”

“No.”

“Did you smell me?”

A titter ran through the room, which the judge promptly rebuked by calling out “Order!” The reply to the last question was not heard, and the accused told the witness he might take his seat, remarking, at the same time, to the prosecuting attorney:

“I don’t think you have made much out of him—why, he undertakes to tell what was going on when he was sound asleep!”

Aunt Fanny was the next witness. She testified to finding Otis asleep, late in the morning, and described the state of things in his room, at that time. She also related what took place in the kitchen, when she told Ronald to call Otis to breakfast. Jessie was then called to the stand, and corroborated a part of the testimony of Miss Lee.

The evidence for the prosecution all being in, the prisoner said he should summon no witnesses to rebut the testimony given, although he presumed he could call upon every person in the court-room, from the learned judge down to the witness who pretended to tell what took place when he was asleep, to testify to his (the prisoner’s) good character, if necessary. He then reviewed the evidence, and pronounced it all guess-work. Certain things had been done. There was no proof that he did them, and he did not know why they should be so positive he was the offender.

“May it please your honor,” interrupted the prosecuting attorney, “if the prisoner thinks there is any room for doubt, on that point, I can call several witnesses to prove that he has confessed that he did all that we have charged him with.”

“If it please your honor,” replied the accused, “I suppose I could claim that anything I may have said shall not be used against me. Am I not right?”

“Whatever the law or usage may be in other tribunals,” replied the judge, “this court is of the opinion that any confession made by the defendant may be used as evidence against him, unless it can be shown that he was influenced by fear, or a hope of gaining some end, in making the confession.”

“Well,” continued the accused, “I will save the prosecuting attorney the trouble of bringing forward any more witnesses. I merely wished to show him the flaw in the net in which he thinks he has caught me; but I had no idea of crawling off through such a small hole. No, your honor, I admit that I played an April-fool trick upon my young friend.”

The accused then went on to justify himself, in a speech of considerable length, which was very attentively listened to. He took the ground that the custom of playing April-fool tricks was an old and almost universal one; that it was one of the established and inalienable rights of boys; that there is no harm in playing off a pleasant joke in a good-natured way; that he had no malice against Otis, and in reality did him no harm; that there was no excuse for his sleeping till after school-time, even if the room was darkened; that in removing Otis’s plate from the breakfast table, he only made an April-fool of Jessie; that it was not his business to contradict Jessie, and correct her errors; that he did not call Otis, because he supposed Aunt Fanny did not expect him to, after what Jessie had said; and that he did not feel that he had been guilty of disobedience or falsehood, in anything he had done, in connection with this affair. He closed with an earnest appeal to the jury, beseeching them to judge him by his motives rather than his acts, and reminding them that it was better to err on the side of mercy than of severity.

The prosecuting attorney now arose, and made the closing plea. He set forth in vivid colors the provoking nature of the offence, and the loss of time, temper and school privileges which Otis had suffered in consequence of it. Even allowing that there is no evil in playing harmless practical jokes on the first day of April, he held that this was a very different affair. It was too serious a matter to be passed off as a joke. It was an offence against good order and good feeling. But he was ready to go farther than this, and condemn all kinds of April-fool tricks. It was a foolish custom, if it was an old one. As to boys having an “inalienable right” to make fools of each other, on any day of the year, as had been claimed by the defendant, he said the proposition need only be stated, to be laughed at. There were serious evils connected with this fooling business, as was abundantly illustrated in the case under trial. It was very apt to be carried too far, and to degenerate into impudence, rowdyism, recklessness, revenge, etc. Besides, it begets lying. He believed there were more lies told among boys on April first than on any other day of the year. Lying is almost essential to the playing off of an April-fool hoax. Lies may be acted, as well as spoken; they may be implied, as well as expressed. Any attempt to deceive, is a falsehood.

“I would like to ask the learned counsel,” interrupted Ronald, “whether I am guilty of falsehood, when I give my hens glass nest-eggs?”

This question produced some merriment in the room, and for a moment it seemed to stagger the attorney. He got over it, however, by saying that a falsehood could be told only to a rational being. A hen is not capable of lying, or of being lied to.

Ronald again interposed. He said he admitted that a hen could not tell a lie; but she could be deceived with a glass egg, just as he was sometimes deceived by lying boys why, then, could she not be lied to, as well as he?

The prosecuting attorney appeared somewhat confused, for a moment, but he proceeded to say that this discussion had nothing to do with the case on trial, and he would thank the defendant not to interrupt him again with irrelevant matters. He then resumed his argument. He thought there could be no doubt that if we allowed another to make an erroneous statement in our hearing, innocently, and we did not correct it, we were not blameless; but if we had previously set a trap to mislead the person into this very false statement, we certainly were greatly to blame. He then took up the question of Ronald’s disobedience, and argued that he was without excuse for neglecting to call Otis, when told to. In concluding, he said he had been informed that the accused had been guilty of similar offences, though in a milder degree, a year previous to this time, and had been faithfully warned against repeating them. Justice, both to himself and to the family, seemed to require that efficient means should be adopted to put a stop to such proceedings, and he called upon the jury to do their duty firmly, and not allow their verdict to be influenced by fear, favor, or a mistaken charity.

The judge now arose and charged the jury. He set forth the facts that had been proved against the accused, and stated in an impartial manner the questions which the jury were to consider. He said he did not consider it proper to offer them any instruction as to the moral law on which their decision must be based, as they were as well versed in that as he was himself. He closed by urging them to render an honest and impartial decision.

The jury now retired to another room, and the judge announced that the court would take a recess. Judge and prisoner, counsel and witness, now chatted together quite familiarly for a little while, until the jury returned, when the court was called to order, and the verdict announced, as follows:

“We find the prisoner guilty on all the charges; but as we are of opinion that he has erred through thoughtlessness rather than from malice, we recommend that as light a penalty be inflicted as in the opinion of the court will serve the ends of justice.”

The judge, who had probably anticipated such a verdict, and had decided in his mind what the penalty should be, now told the prisoner to arise, and proceeded to address him in these words:

“Ronald D. Page, you have been tried by a jury, and found guilty of taking unwarrantable liberties with your room-mate, and with being virtually guilty of disobedience and falsehood, that you might the better carry out your plot. The court concurs in the justice of this verdict, and also in the propriety of the recommendation of mercy that accompanies it. But the court is of opinion that while the sentence is tempered with mercy, it should be of sufficient severity to prevent a repetition of the offence. Its sentence, therefore, is, that on Wednesday next, at two o’clock in the afternoon, you be taken to your chamber, and stripped of your clothing.”

The judge here paused a moment, the prisoner’s face fell, and there was a decided sensation throughout the room. Marcus continued:

“That you then be put to bed, and there remain for the space of four hours, or until six o’clock, when you shall be released. And the court appoints Mr. Preston an officer, to see that this sentence is faithfully carried out.”

So ended what was in after days memorable in the annals of the family as “the great April-fool case.” The sentence was fully carried out, the next Wednesday afternoon, with the exception that, as Ronald pledged his honor to put himself to bed, and remain there for four hours, Oscar allowed him to perform that office for himself. The “judge” happened to peep into his chamber, an hour or two after, and was not a little surprised to find his prisoner sleeping as soundly, and snoring as complacently, as if going to bed at two o’clock were a very pleasant arrangement!