Chapter V: Lesson Days

"Splendid!" cried Mrs. Inglefield enthusiastically, applauding with her feet and hands. "May I ask who is the author of that poem?"

"Ted wrote it," said Diana. "He said it to me when I went over to see him, so I made him write it down, and Chris and Noel have been learning it as fast as they could all the afternoon."

"I think you are all extremely clever," said Mrs. Inglefield. "I am quite proud of you."

"And which do you like best, Mums, a horse or motor?" asked Noel.

"It's easy to see which the poet liked best," said Mrs. Inglefield, laughing. "I think I like them both; if I were rich, I would keep a car to take me long distances, and a horse to ride when I wanted to enjoy the country."

"And now we'll have our dance," said Diana.

There was a great bustle then, clearing the chairs away. Chris had the honour of dancing with his mother, and Diana danced with Noel. They turned their small gramophone on, and all enjoyed themselves. When they at last had to stop from sheer fatigue, Mrs. Inglefield made a little speech in which she thanked them all most gratefully for their successful entertainment.

"It has kept your dullness away," said Diana with a satisfied smile. "I'm so glad. I promised you I would keep you from being dull."

Her mother did not remember the promise, but she was touched by her little daughter's thought for her.

"Did you like Dinah's story?" Chris asked.

"Very much. It was a sweet little story. I did not know I had a daughter who was an authoress. What a proud mother I shall be when her first book is published!"

Diana got rosy red. That was the dream and desire of her heart. She lay in bed at night imagining the time when a real book of hers should be in her hand fresh from the publishers, with her name in big letters across its title page.

A little later that evening they all went down to the boudoir. They always spent an hour before their mother's dinner with her there.

Diana and Noel were looking at a beautiful book of engravings together which belonged to their grandmother and had been left in the cottage. Diana was weaving stories out of every picture, and Noel listened to her with the greatest interest. Chris crept up close to his mother's chair, and sat down on a stool at her feet.

"I wish I was clever like Dinah," he sighed. "I can't write stories, Mums: I've tried and tried and tried. You'll never see a book of mine in print. There'll be nothing for you to be proud about in me."

His mother caressed his smooth brown head with her loving hand.

"Now, Chris, we'll have a little talk together. God gives us all different gifts. It isn't everyone who can write books. I am glad it isn't. We have quite enough books in the world as it is. And, do you know, I am very glad that my eldest son does not write stories. Somehow or other, I don't think it is very noble or uplifting work for strong men to do. A man who spends his life in making up stories of what silly men and women do and say isn't much of a man, to my thinking. Mind, Chris, there are great writers amongst men, and writers who do a lot of good by their pen, but there are men who do the reverse. I would far rather my son went out into the world, and endured hardness and worked hard for his country and fellow-men. I want you to be an Empire-builder, my boy, or an Empire-keeper. You can be a sailor, or a soldier, or a judge, or a policeman, or even a colonist, but if you're putting God first, service for country next, and self last, I shall be proud of my son."

Chris squared his shoulders. His heart caught fire at his mother's words.

"I will make you proud of me, Mums," he said earnestly. "I will work hard all my life till I die."

And then his mother stooped and kissed the top of his head, and a bright tear fell as she said:

"God bless and keep you, my boy, and help you to keep your promise."

Chris was a happy boy that night. He had often bewailed his inferiority to his sister, who was so quick and agile with her words and pen, but now he felt that he had a goal in front of him: a vision in which he saw himself as a doer if not a talker or a writer; and he fell asleep murmuring to himself:

"I'll do, do, do, and Mums will be proud of me!"

The weather cleared in a few days and spring came along in a rush.

Very soon Mrs. Inglefield had made her plans. She had found a good boys' school about six miles away, and though the schoolmaster did not care to take day boys as a rule, he made an exception in Chris's case, and took him as a weekly boarder. Chris was to come home every Saturday and stay till Monday. There was a train which would take him and bring him back. His mother meant to give him a bicycle very soon, but meanwhile, he used the train.

Then a young governess was found in the neighbouring town. Her name was Miss Morgan, and she came every morning at ten o'clock to give Diana and Noel some lessons. She stayed to lunch, took them for a walk afterwards, and then went home. Diana was a very tractable pupil, though she was apt to get dreamy and careless in her work. Noel was difficult. He did not like sitting still, and hated his lessons. He was always ready to talk, but never ready to learn, and Miss Morgan found her patience sorely tried by his inattention and restlessness.

One morning he had been very troublesome: he would not give his attention to an addition sum set down for him on his slate. He kicked his chair, he drummed with his elbows on the table, and he made grimaces at Diana, who sat on the opposite side of the table.

"Noel, if you don't start that sum at once I shall punish you," Miss Morgan said sternly.

"How?" asked Noel, not a bit abashed. "And why are figures so horrid, Miss Morgan? I like letters best: you don't have to add them up. But yesterday I did count up. I counted the bwanches of my fir tree, and I got up to twenty."

"No more talking. Begin your sum."

Noel balanced his slate pencil across his fingers, dropped it under the table, then scrambled down to get it. He was a long time under the table, and then announced that the pencil was broken into a "fowsand bits."

Miss Morgan produced another pencil promptly, and started him at his sum again.

She was giving Diana a French dictation lesson: when she looked at Noel again, she found him leaning back in his chair, his eyes upon the ceiling.

"I'm counting the flies," he said; "they're more interesting than sixes and sevens."

"Very well," said Miss Morgan, "as you are determined not to do that sum, you will stand in the corner till you are sorry for your idleness."

Noel did not like this at all, but he pretended he did. He marched off to the corner and stood with hands behind him and his face to the wall.

Then he began to mutter to himself. Miss Morgan told him to be quiet.

Presently he spoke out loud:

"I'm telling God about you, how unkind you are to me."

"You're displeasing God very much. Ask Him to take away the naughty spirit who is making you idle and disobedient."

"What's his name?" asked Noel, turning round with interest on his face. "Is it Satan?"

Miss Morgan made no reply. Diana giggled.

And then, with a sudden rush, Noel dashed at the door, opened it, and tore downstairs as fast as his two feet could carry him. Down the garden he went, through the little gate into the churchyard, and from there into the quiet silent church.

Miss Morgan went after him, but could not find him. She did not think of going into the church.

As she came back from a fruitless search in the garden, she met Mrs. Inglefield. In a few words she told her about Noel.

"He really is extremely naughty this morning," she said. "He won't do his lessons, and now he has run away."

Mrs. Inglefield looked distressed.

"He has been spoiled by his ayah in India," she said. "He has never been made to do things he doesn't like. Don't spend your time looking for him, Miss Morgan. Leave him alone. He must be punished when he comes back."

She sighed a little, for punishment of any sort was a painful necessity to her.

It was some time before Noel came back to the house. His mother caught sight of him stealing across the garden on tiptoe.

She met him at the garden door.

"Why are you not at lessons?" she asked gravely.

Noel stood still, his gaze irresolute, then he smiled, and when Noel smiled he was adorable.

"Oh, Mums dear, I've been doing a dweffully difficult fing. Casting out Satan like Jesus did in the Bible." Then he dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. "I fink I've left him in the church. I don't know whether he's there still, or where he's going nex'."

"I'm quite sure you haven't been able to cast him out," said Mrs. Inglefield.

She always took Noel seriously.

"Well, no, not 'zackly, but Miss Morgan said he was in me, and I fought I'd better get as near God as I could and then He'd help me. And I walked into the top seat and knelt on the stool."

"Are you good now?"

Noel nodded.

"It wasn't me that was wicked," he said, looking up at his mother with solemn eyes. "It was Satan. God said to him in church, 'Get behind me, Satan,' and he did it."

"I am afraid, Noel, you have vexed Miss Morgan very much. If you have told God that you are sorry, you must now go and tell her. And remember this. No one can make you naughty against your will. You have liked being naughty, and you went on being naughty. And to make you remember that you must not give way to such naughtiness, you must stay up in the nursery this evening and not come down with the others after tea."

Noel began to cry, then he spread out his hands pathetically:

"But I'm good now. You can't puni' me when I'm good."

"I'm very glad you're good now; but you must be punished all the same. If a man gets sent to prison for stealing, however good he feels and is, after stealing, it won't save him from the prison."

Noel stared at his mother. Then he sobbed out:

"But I want to be forgiven."

"Miss Morgan will forgive you if you tell her you are sorry, but you must still be punished."

And then she left him climbing slowly up the stairs to the schoolroom. She longed to take him in her arms and pet him, but she knew it would not be good for him if she did.

Noel went into the nursery a chastened boy.

"I've come to say I'm sorry," he said.

Miss Morgan looked at his red eyes, and wisely did not ask him where he had been.

"I am very glad to hear you say so," she said. "Now, to show me you are sorry, sit down and do your sums."

In silence Noel took up his slate and pencil. Miss Morgan had no cause for complaint of him again.

But when lessons were over Noel said to her:

"And though I'm as good as any angel, I'm going to be punished this evening. It isn't fair."

Miss Morgan asked him to explain. When she heard about it she said to him:

"Whatever your mother does is absolutely fair. It would not be fair to let you go unpunished. It is to remind you next time you are going to be naughty that punishment will surely follow."

Noel said no more. His mother could not have punished him more severely than by preventing him from joining her and Diana for what they called their happy hour.

But after this, he was better behaved in lesson time.

The flowers and bulbs in the garden were now making a good show.

Chris worked away in his garden when he came home on Saturday. His mustard and cress and radishes were quite a success, and he was a proud boy when he presented his mother with the first dish of them.

Diana was as busy as he, attending to her rose tree and seedlings. Noel weeded his plot, and talked to his fir tree whilst he was doing it. He was very delighted one Sunday to see some of his seeds coming up by the church porch.

But when Chris got his bicycle, there was not so much gardening done. Noel insisted upon learning to ride it, and Chris for some time was good-natured about it. The two boys helped each other, and strange to say Noel mastered the machine before Chris.

One Saturday afternoon their mother allowed them to go out with it. She was always anxious that the boys should play and do things together. Noel seemed to have more respect for Chris now he was at school, and was always asking him questions about it and longing to join him there.

Diana, strangely enough, did not take any interest in the bicycle. She tried to ride it one day and had a bad fall and hurt herself. Since then she never touched it.

Mrs. Inglefield, seeing her walking about the garden rather aimlessly, suggested to her that she should come for a walk with her.

Of course Diana was only too delighted to do so. She adored her mother and loved having her to herself.

"We will go and see a farmer's wife, a Mrs. Cobb. I knew her as a little girl. She is getting old, and is not able to leave home as she is stiff with rheumatism. It is such a pretty walk across the fields and through a bit of wood."

"I hope Chris and Noel won't be quarrelling," Diana said in her grown-up tone as she started from the house with her mother. She thought that her brothers would be envious of her when they heard how she had spent the afternoon.

"I hope not," said her mother, smiling. "The more they are together, the better I am pleased. That was why I let them go out by themselves to-day."

Diana gave a little sigh.

"I don't know why it is, but since Chris has gone to school, he turns up his nose at girls. He never used to, and he'd do anything I told him to, and now he won't do a thing, and laughs at me."

"Poor little girl!" said Mrs. Inglefield sympathetically. "I went through that with my brothers, when I was small. It is only when they first go to a boys' school. They get swelled heads, and think that boys are the most superior beings in creation. Chris is very fond of you, Diana; he'll soon come back to you if you take an interest in his cricket and games, and talk to him about his school."

Diana was silent; she knew she had not done this. They crossed some green fields, keeping to the little path which was the right-of-way, and then they came to a wood with a beaten path under overhanging trees. The fresh green foliage, the primroses and anemones and blue hyacinths enchanted Diana.

"In the country," she said as she went down on her knees to pick the flowers, "you have everything without paying for it. We couldn't do this in London. And the flowers in the parks are only to look at, not to pick."

It was a bright sunny afternoon. Mrs. Inglefield, who was in no hurry, sat down to rest herself on a fallen tree-trunk. Then suddenly a rather angry child's voice broke the silence:

"I won't go home—I won't! I won't ever again! I shall stay away till they find my dead body starved to death, a skillington! I hate them all! I'll live up in the trees with the birds. They can hunt and hunt and hunt for me, and will never find me. They'll be only hunting for me to punish me!"

Diana started up. She stood still and listened, and so did her mother. In a moment, pushing herself passionately through a lot of bushes and undergrowth, appeared a little girl about Diana's age. She was shorter than she, and had a short-cropped red head. She was not a pretty child, but there was something wild and graceful in the way she held herself. She eyed Diana and her mother as a young fawn might just before taking flight, but Mrs. Inglefield smiled at her tenderly and held out her hand:

"Are you a little wood nymph? Come and talk to us."

The little girl stood still. She was not a village child. She was dressed plainly but well, and she swung a straw hat in her hand as she walked. Her face had been furious with passion, but surprise and curiosity had taken the temper away. For an instant she wavered, as if meditating flight, and then she thought better of it and walked up to Mrs. Inglefield.

"I saw you in church on Sunday," she said. "You smiled so often! I never know people who smile."

"Oh, what a sad pity! How hot and tired you look, dear child! Come and sit down by me."