The Stokesley Secret [24]
repeated an hour ago, was sitting cross-legged in the window, with his slate and pencil, and a basket of bricks, his great delight, which he was placing in rows.
"Miss Fosbrook," said he, "isn't this it? Twelve bricks; take away those seven, then--l, 2, 3, 4, 5--the twelve is only 5: the 10 is gone, isn't it? so you must leave one out of the next figure in the upper line of the sum."
Now Davy had only begun arithmetic on the governess's arrival, but he had learnt numeration and addition in her way. She was so delighted, that she stooped down and kissed him, saying, "Quite right, my little man."
Davy rather disapproved of the kiss, and rubbed his brown-holland elbow over his face, as if to clear it off.
"Well," thought Christabel, as she hurried away for five minutes' peace in her own room before the dinner-bell, "it is a comfort to have one pupil whose whole endeavour is not to frustrate one's attempts to educate him."
Poor young thing! that one little bit of sense had quite cheered her up. Otherwise she was not one whit less weary than the children. She had been learning a very tough lesson too--much harder than any of theirs; and she was not at all certain that she had learnt it right.
Now, readers, of all the children, who do you think had used the most conscience at the lessons?
CHAPTER VI.
What an entirely different set of beings were those Stokesley children in lesson-time and out of it! Talk of the change of an old thorn in winter to a May-bush in spring! that was nothing to it!
Poor, listless, stolid, deplorable logs, with bowed backs and crossed ankles, pipy voices and heavy eyes! Who would believe that these were the merry, capering, noisy creatures, full of fun and riot, clattering and screeching, and dancing about with ecstasy at Sam's information that there was a bonfire by the potato-house!
"A bonfire!" said the London governess, thinking of illuminations; "what can that be for?"
"Oh, it is not FOR anything," said Susan; "it is Purday burning weeds. Don't you smell them? How nice they are! I was afraid it was only Farmer Smith burning couch."
All the noses were elevated to scent from afar a certain smoky odour, usually to be detected in July breezes, and which reminded Miss Fosbrook of a brick-field.
"Potatoes! Potatoes! We'll roast some potatoes, and have them for tea!" bellowed all the voices; so that Miss Fosbrook could hardly find a space for very unwillingly saying,
"But, my dears, I don't know whether I ought to let you play with fire."
"Oh, we always do," roared the children; and Susan added,
"We always roast potatoes when there's a bonfire. Mamma always lets us; it is only Purday that is cross."
"Yes, yes; Mamma lets us."
"Well, if Sam and Susan say it is right, I trust to them," said Miss Fosbrook gladly; "only you must let me come out and see what it is. I am too much of a Londoner to know."
"Oh yes; and we'll roast you some potatoes."
So the uproarious population tumbled upstairs, there to be invested with rougher brown-holland garments than those that already concealed the sprigged cottons of the girls; and when the five came down again, they were so much alike in dress, that it was not easy to tell girls from boys. Susan brought little George down with her, and off the party set. Sam and Hal, who had been waiting in the hall, took Miss Fosbrook between them, as if they thought it their duty to do the honours of the bonfire, and conducted her across the garden, through the kitchen-garden, across which lay a long sluggish bar of heavy and very odorous smoke, to a gate in a quickset hedge. Here were some sheds and cart-houses, a fagot pile, various logs of timber, a grindstone, and--that towards which all the eight children rushed with whoops of ecstasy--a heap of smoking rubbish, chiefly dry leaves, and peas and potato haulm, with a large allowance of cabbage stumps--all extremely earthy, and looking as if the smouldering smoke were a wonder from so mere a heap of dirt.
No matter! There were all the children round
"Miss Fosbrook," said he, "isn't this it? Twelve bricks; take away those seven, then--l, 2, 3, 4, 5--the twelve is only 5: the 10 is gone, isn't it? so you must leave one out of the next figure in the upper line of the sum."
Now Davy had only begun arithmetic on the governess's arrival, but he had learnt numeration and addition in her way. She was so delighted, that she stooped down and kissed him, saying, "Quite right, my little man."
Davy rather disapproved of the kiss, and rubbed his brown-holland elbow over his face, as if to clear it off.
"Well," thought Christabel, as she hurried away for five minutes' peace in her own room before the dinner-bell, "it is a comfort to have one pupil whose whole endeavour is not to frustrate one's attempts to educate him."
Poor young thing! that one little bit of sense had quite cheered her up. Otherwise she was not one whit less weary than the children. She had been learning a very tough lesson too--much harder than any of theirs; and she was not at all certain that she had learnt it right.
Now, readers, of all the children, who do you think had used the most conscience at the lessons?
CHAPTER VI.
What an entirely different set of beings were those Stokesley children in lesson-time and out of it! Talk of the change of an old thorn in winter to a May-bush in spring! that was nothing to it!
Poor, listless, stolid, deplorable logs, with bowed backs and crossed ankles, pipy voices and heavy eyes! Who would believe that these were the merry, capering, noisy creatures, full of fun and riot, clattering and screeching, and dancing about with ecstasy at Sam's information that there was a bonfire by the potato-house!
"A bonfire!" said the London governess, thinking of illuminations; "what can that be for?"
"Oh, it is not FOR anything," said Susan; "it is Purday burning weeds. Don't you smell them? How nice they are! I was afraid it was only Farmer Smith burning couch."
All the noses were elevated to scent from afar a certain smoky odour, usually to be detected in July breezes, and which reminded Miss Fosbrook of a brick-field.
"Potatoes! Potatoes! We'll roast some potatoes, and have them for tea!" bellowed all the voices; so that Miss Fosbrook could hardly find a space for very unwillingly saying,
"But, my dears, I don't know whether I ought to let you play with fire."
"Oh, we always do," roared the children; and Susan added,
"We always roast potatoes when there's a bonfire. Mamma always lets us; it is only Purday that is cross."
"Yes, yes; Mamma lets us."
"Well, if Sam and Susan say it is right, I trust to them," said Miss Fosbrook gladly; "only you must let me come out and see what it is. I am too much of a Londoner to know."
"Oh yes; and we'll roast you some potatoes."
So the uproarious population tumbled upstairs, there to be invested with rougher brown-holland garments than those that already concealed the sprigged cottons of the girls; and when the five came down again, they were so much alike in dress, that it was not easy to tell girls from boys. Susan brought little George down with her, and off the party set. Sam and Hal, who had been waiting in the hall, took Miss Fosbrook between them, as if they thought it their duty to do the honours of the bonfire, and conducted her across the garden, through the kitchen-garden, across which lay a long sluggish bar of heavy and very odorous smoke, to a gate in a quickset hedge. Here were some sheds and cart-houses, a fagot pile, various logs of timber, a grindstone, and--that towards which all the eight children rushed with whoops of ecstasy--a heap of smoking rubbish, chiefly dry leaves, and peas and potato haulm, with a large allowance of cabbage stumps--all extremely earthy, and looking as if the smouldering smoke were a wonder from so mere a heap of dirt.
No matter! There were all the children round