Part 5 (1/2)

'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 Sat.u.r.day.'

'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--'

'Yes,' said Emily, in a murmuring voice, 'we should do better if Lily would not make such a point of that one thing; but she never minds what else is cut short, and she never thinks of helping me. It never seems to enter her head how much I have on my hands, and no one does anything to help me.'

'Oh, Emily! you never asked me,' said Lily.

'I knew you would not like it,' said Emily. 'No, it is not my way to complain, people may see how to help me if they choose to do it.'

'Lily, Lily, take care,' said Claude, in a low voice; 'is not the rule you admire, the rule of love of yourself?'

'Oh, Claude!' returned Lily, 'do not say so, you know it was Emily that I called an example of it, not myself, and see how forbearing she has been. Now I see that I am really wanted, I will help. It must be love, not duty, that calls me to the schoolroom, for no one ever said that was my province.'

'Poor duty! you give it a very narrow boundary.'

Lilias, who, to say the truth, had been made more careful of her own conduct, by the wish to establish her principle, really betook herself to the schoolroom for an hour every morning, with a desire to be useful. She thought she did great things in undertaking those tasks of Phyllis's which Emily most disliked. But Lilias was neither patient nor humble enough to be a good teacher, though she could explain difficult rules in a sensible way. She could not, or would not, understand the difference between dulness and inattention; her sharp hasty manner would frighten away all her pupil's powers of comprehension; she sometimes fell into the great error of scolding, when Phyllis was doing her best, and the poor child's tears flowed more frequently than ever.

Emily's gentle manner made her instructions far more agreeable, though she was often neither clear nor correct in her explanations; she was contented if the lessons were droned through in any manner, so long as she could say they were done; she disliked a disturbance, and overlooked or half corrected mistakes rather than cause a cry.

Phyllis naturally preferred being taught by her, and Lily was vexed and unwilling to persevere. She went to the schoolroom expecting to be annoyed, created vexation for herself, and taught in anything but a loving spirit. Still, however, the thought of Claude, and the wish to do more than her duty, kept her constant to her promise, and her love of seeing things well done was useful, though sadly counterbalanced by her deficiency in temper and patience.

CHAPTER V--VILLAGE GOSSIP

'The deeds we do, the words we say, Into still air they seem to fleet; We count them past, But they shall last.'

Soon after Easter, Claude went to Oxford. He was much missed by his sisters, who wanted him to carve for them at luncheon, to escort them when they rode or walked, to hear their music, talk over their books, advise respecting their drawings, and criticise Lily's verses. A new subject of interest was, however, arising for them in the neighbours who were shortly expected to arrive at Broom Hill, a house which had lately been built in a hamlet about a mile and a half from the New Court.

These new comers were the family of a barrister of the name of Weston, who had taken the house for the sake of his wife, her health having been much injured by her grief at the loss of two daughters in the scarlet fever. Two still remained, a grown-up young lady, and a girl of eleven years old, and the Miss Mohuns learnt with great delight that they should have near neighbours of their own age. They had never had any young companions as young ladies were scarce among their acquaintance, and they had not seen their cousin, Lady Florence Devereux, since they were children.

It was with great satisfaction that Emily and Lilias set out with their father to make the first visit, and they augured well from their first sight of Mrs. Weston and her daughters. Mrs. Weston was alone, her daughters being out walking, and Lily spent the greater part of the visit in silence, though her mind was made up in the first ten minutes, as she told Emily on leaving the house, 'that Miss Weston's tastes were in complete accordance with her own.'

'Rapid judgment,' said Emily. 'Love before first sight. But Mrs.

Weston is a very sweet person.'

'And, Emily, did you see the music-book open at ”Angels ever bright and fair?” If Miss Weston sings that as I imagine it!'

'How could you see what was in the music-book at the other end of the room? I only saw it was a beautiful piano. And what handsome furniture! it made me doubly ashamed of our faded carpet and chairs, almost as old as the house itself.'