Part 18 (2/2)
”Why, it was worth s.h.i.+llings and s.h.i.+llings to me. You see I used to save up all the back numbers of the _London Journal_ because of the answers to correspondents, telling you how to do your hair and trim your nails and give yourself a nice complexion. I used to bother my head about that sort of thing in those days, dear; and one day I happened to get reading a story in a back number only about a year old and I found I was just as interested as if I had never read it before and I hadn't the slightest remembrance of it. After that I left off buying the _Journal_ and took to reading my big heap of back numbers. I get through them once every two years.” Debby interrupted herself with a fit of coughing, for lengthy monologue is inadvisable for persons who bend over needle-work in dark back rooms. Recovering herself, she added, ”And then I start afresh. You couldn't do that, could you?”
”No,” admitted Esther, with a painful feeling of inferiority. ”I remember all I've ever read.”
”Ah, you will grow up a clever woman!” said Debby, patting her hair.
”Oh, do you think so?” said Esther, her dark eyes lighting up with pleasure.
”Oh yes, you're always first in your cla.s.s, ain't you?”
”Is that what you judge by, Debby?” said Esther, disappointed. ”The other girls are so stupid and take no thought for anything but their hats and their frocks. They would rather play gobs or shuttlec.o.c.k or hopscotch than read about the 'Forty Thieves.' They don't mind being kept a whole year in one cla.s.s but I--oh, I feel so mad at getting on so slow. I could easily learn the standard work in three months. I want to know everything--so that I can grow up to be a teacher at our school.”
”And does your teacher know everything?”
”Oh yes! She knows the meaning of every word and all about foreign countries.”
”And would you like to be a teacher?”
”If I could only be clever enough!” sighed Esther. ”But then you see the teachers at our school are real ladies and they dress, oh, so beautifully! With fur tippets and six-b.u.t.ton gloves. I could never afford it, for even when I was earning five s.h.i.+llings a week I should have to give most of it to father and the children.”
”But if you're very good--I dare say some of the great ladies like the Rothschilds will buy you nice clothes. I have heard they are very good to clever children.”
”No, then the other teachers would know I was getting charity! And they would mock at me. I heard Miss Hyams make fun of a teacher because she wore the same dress as last winter. I don't think I should like to be a teacher after all, though it is nice to be able to stand with your back to the fire in the winter. The girls would know--'” Esther stopped and blushed.
”Would know what, dear?”
”Well, they would know father,” said Esther in low tones. ”They would see him selling things in the Lane and they wouldn't do what I told them.”
”Nonsense, Esther. I believe most of the teachers' fathers are just as bad--I mean as poor. Look at Miss Hyams's own father.”
”Oh Debby! I do hope that's true. Besides when I was earning five s.h.i.+llings a week, I could buy father a new coat, couldn't I? And then there would be no need for him to stand in the Lane with lemons or 'four-corner fringes,' would there?”
”No, dear. You shall be a teacher, I prophesy, and who knows? Some day you may be Head Mistress!”
Esther laughed a startled little laugh of delight, with a suspicion of a sob in it. ”What! Me! Me go round and make all the teachers do their work. Oh, wouldn't I catch them gossiping! I know their tricks!”
”You seem to look after your teacher well. Do you ever call her over the coals for gossiping?” inquired Dutch Debby, amused.
”No, no,” protested Esther quite seriously. ”I like to hear them gossiping. When my teacher and Miss Davis, who's in the next room, and a few other teachers get together, I learn--Oh such a lot!--from their conversation.”
”Then they do teach you after all,” laughed Debby.
”Yes, but it's not on the Time Table,” said Esther, shaking her little head sapiently. ”It's mostly about young men. Did you ever have a young man, Debby?”
”Don't--don't ask such questions, child!” Debby bent over her needle-work.
”Why not?” persisted Esther. ”If I only had a young man when I grew up, I should be proud of him. Yes, you're trying to turn your head away. I'm sure you had. Was he nice like Lord Eversmonde or Captain Andrew Sinclair? Why you're crying, Debby!”
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