Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft. Charlotte M. Yonge
that you would have that poor dear merry Master Phyl sent to school, she would pine away like a wild bird in a cage; but papa will never think of such a thing.’
‘If I thought of her being sent to school,’ said Claude, ‘it would be to shield her from—the rule of love.’
‘Oh! you think we are too indulgent,’ said Emily; ‘perhaps we are, but you know we cannot torment a poor child all day long.’
‘If you call the way you treat her indulgent, I should like to know what you call severe.’
‘What do you mean, Claude?’ said Emily.
‘I call your indulgence something like the tender mercies of the wicked,’ said Claude. ‘On a fine day, when every one is taking their pleasure in the garden, to shut an unhappy child up in the schoolroom, with a hard sum that you have not taken the trouble to teach her how to do, and late in the day, when no one’s head is clear for difficult arithmetic—’
‘Hard sum do you call it?’ said Jane.
‘Indeed I explained it to her,’ said Emily.
‘And well she understood you,’ said Claude.
‘She might have learnt if she had attended,’ said Emily; ‘Ada understood clearly, with the same explanation.’
‘And do not you be too proud of the effect of your instructions, Claude,’ said Jane, ‘for when honest Phyl came into the garden, she did not know farthings from fractions.’
‘And pray, Mrs. Senior Wrangler,’ said Claude, ‘will you tell me where is the difference between a half-penny and half a penny?’
After a good laugh at Jane’s expense, Emily went on, ‘Now, Claude, I will tell you how it happened; Phyllis is so slow, and dawdles over her lessons so long, that it is quite a labour to hear her; Ada is quick enough, but if you were to hear Phyllis say one column of spelling, you would know what misery is. Then before she has half finished, the clock strikes one, it is time to read, and the lessons are put off till the afternoon. I certainly did not know that she was about her sum all that time, or I would have sent her out as I did on Saturday.’
‘And the reading at one is as fixed as fate,’ said Claude.
‘Oh, no!’ said Jane, ‘when we were about old “Russell,” we did not begin till nearly two, but since we have been reading this book, Lily will never let us rest till we begin; she walks up and down, and hurries and worries and—’
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