The Stokesley SecretYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
The Stokesley Secret
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Family -- Juvenile fiction
But Annie, who was reading a little history of St. Paul, would call
Cilicia, Cicilia, and when told to spell it she began to cry too
decidedly for Susan’s good-nature to check her tears. And not only did
Elizabeth’s copy look as if she had written it with claws instead of
fingers, but she was grieving over her spotted cotton instead of really
seeking for places in her map. Thus the Moselle obstinately hid itself;
and she absolutely shed tears because Miss Fosbrook declared that
Frankfort _was_ on the Maine. For the first time she had her grammar
turned back upon her hands. How many mistakes Annie made would be really
past telling; for these two little girls had their whole minds quite
upset by the thought of a day’s pleasure; and as they never tried to
restrain themselves, and to “be sober, be vigilant,” they gave way before
all the little trials in their paths—were first careless, and then
fractious. Perhaps when they were older they would find out that this
uplifted sense of excited expectation is the very warning to be heedful.
If Miss Fosbrook had been a strict governess, she would have told them
they did not deserve to go at all; or at any rate, that Bessie must
repeat her grammar better, and re-write her copy, and that Annie’s
unlucky addition sum must be made to prove; but she had seen her little
sisters nearly as bad in prospect of a pantomime, so she was merciful,
and sent them in good time to brush their hair, put on their spotted
cottons, and wash off as much as possible of the red mottling left by
those foolish tears.
Their spirits rose again as fast as they had sunk; and it was a lively
walk through the park to the great house, with a good deal of skipping
and jumping at first, and then, near the door, a little awe and gravity.
They were taken through a side-door of the hall to the school-room, where
Ida and her governess received them. It was the first time that
Christabel had seen her out of her beplumed hat, and she thought her a
pleasant, bright-looking little girl, not at all set up or conceited.
Her mauve muslin, flounced though it was up to her waist, showed that it
had been wise to withstand Bessie’s desire for the white muslins; but
Miss Fosbrook had enough to do on her own account with the endeavour to
understand the German governess’s foreign accent, without attending to
the children more than was necessary.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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