Chapter III: Robert's Lesson

"HOW many soldiers did you say there were, Robert?" inquired his aunt.

"Seven hundred and sixty-eight."

"Come and sit by me. I want to say something; and I want your whole attention. Ellen, will you sit in the library a few minutes?"

"Have I been naughty, aunt Josey?" inquired the boy rather frightened at the lady's serious face.

"No, but listen! Do you know why I asked you to count the soldiers in the regiment?"

"I suppose you're going to give them stockings as you did the other one. I saw heaps and heaps piled up in the back room and little balls of yarn to mend them with."

"No, Robert! I was simply trying an experiment on you. When I visited Georgetown last spring, I found your mother worried about you. She told me she had made great sacrifices to keep you at school; but the teachers complained that you would not study, that you were too lazy to make the necessary application. She shed tears as she talked with me; and I tried to comfort her. I knew she had not herself the time to spend on your lessons, because your grandparents need so much attention. And then I made some excuse for you on account of their indulgence."

"Yes, aunty, I never could study there, grandpa used to want me to play dominoes with him; and grandma was always calling me to hold yarn for her to wind. And then they didn't believe in keeping boys too strict. They said it cowed me down to study so much."

"I'm afraid you don't know what the word study means, Robert;—but I was telling you how I came to invite you here. Your father was my dear brother. He was the oldest, and I the youngest child. Five brothers and sisters between us died. We clung to each other more on that account I believe. When he died, he made me promise to interest myself for you, his only child, and I have tried to do so."

Mrs. Woodward sat silent for a few minutes, her thoughts reverting to the painful scene. Her dying brother lying in bed propped by pillows, herself seated by his side, trying to calm her fears in order to listen to his last words.

"I made a mistake, Josephine," he said faintly, "a mistake which has blighted my whole life. Father was right when he told me he did not think my feelings for Annie would last. Ah, it was true, a fancy, a boy's fancy for a pretty face and lively manners, that was all. She has nothing to inspire a lasting affection, but I have tried never to let her know this. She has been satisfied with what I could give her; but my boy. Oh, Josephine! I cannot leave my boy under such influences as he will have at his grandfather's. By our love to each other, I ask you to do what you can for him."

Then she recalled her answer given freely, heartily.

"I will, brother, I will."

She was recalled from the past by a growl from Major who was standing by Robert submitting with as much patience as he could to having his ears pulled. Quietly the lady rose, and put the dog from the room.

"You must attend now," she said firmly, though there were tears in her eyes. "I told your mother I would bring you home with me for one year; and I would do my best to cultivate a love for study. I did not encourage her to suppose that you would ever become a professional man as your father was, but that you would try to apply yourself so as to make a man of business, I had no doubt.

"Now, Robert, almost four months have passed. I have devoted to your lessons nearly twice the time I give Ellen, but I can not see that you have improved in the least. You know why I do not send you to school, because the boys of your age are so much in advance of you, that you were ready to cry for shame, and because you promised faithfully to do your best.

"Yesterday, I was so discouraged, I was on the point of sending you back to your mother. Only my promise to your father to do what I could for you, held me back. I began to be really afraid you were wanting in some faculty of mind so that you could not apply yourself. I resolved to try an experiment. That is the reason I asked you to count the soldiers. It really required quite an effort to number them correctly. I stood behind you and did it, but you had no difficulty. Why, Robert? Just because you were interested. I am relieved on one point. You can study and apply your mind if you please; and you are acting very wickedly to waste your time and energies as you have done since you have been here with me. God has given you health, a fine constitution and a good mind. He requires you to use them. You remember the unfaithful steward who hid his talent in the earth; and how God punished him.

"Soon your opportunities for study will be passed, and the time for entering upon the duties of a man will come. How will you meet these responsibilities? You can neither be a merchant, nor a farmer, without some degree of book learning. Now you can neither write nor spell correctly, to your mother. How could you make out a bill, or keep accounts? If you went into society, you would not be respected, because you cannot talk good English; and you will not apply yourself properly to the study of English grammar."

"I don't understand it. I have tried, 'deed I have," faltered Robert in a grieved tone.

"No, I don't think you really have tried. Your mind floats about like a cork on the water, and the longer you allow it to do so, the more difficult it will be to apply yourself."

"What shall I do, aunt Josephine? I like to stay here a great deal better than I do at home."

"Why do you?"

"Oh, for a good many reasons! I had to cut up the kindling every morning; and then we didn't have very good things to eat. Besides I had to wear old patched clothes."