“Miss Fosbrook,” said he, “isn’t this it? Twelve bricks; take away those seven, then—1, 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.”