"How many pounds of b.u.t.ter at one-and-fourpence per pound can I buy for eight shillings?"

Ann Straggalls, after a great deal of staring at the ceiling and biting at her pencil, proved it to be forty. Feelier Potts rapidly dashed the pencil to her slate, screwed up her forehead, and made some figures, finishing off by carefully watching that no other girl should see, and smiling triumphantly at those who had not finished; but when it came to show slates, Feelier displayed a large pound with the figure 2 following certain other figures, which did not show how she had arrived at this result.

"This is very sad," said the inspector. "My good children, you cannot properly apprehend my questions. Do you know what I mean by 'apprehend'?"

Out flew Feelier Potts's hand like a semaph.o.r.e, and she pointed straight at the top b.u.t.ton of the inspector's waistcoat.

"I--ah, don't think, my good child, that you know," said the inspector.

"You answer at random."

"No, sir, plee, sir; I know, sir."

"Know what? What did I ask?"

"Plee, sir, what 'apprehend' means. I know, sir."

"Good girl; quite right," said the inspector, smiling, "Tell us, then, what 'apprehend' means."

"Policeman taking up tipsy man," cried Feelier excitedly.

George Canninge could not resist this, but burst out into a hearty roar of laughter, and then turned his back, for Feelier Potts was at once struck with the idea that she had said something good, and joined in the mirth, till she caught the inspector's eye glaring at her balefully, when the laughter froze stiff and she began to squint so horribly that Mr Slingsby Barracombe turned away in disgust to say to the vicar--

"Most extraordinary child this!"

George Canninge's laughter came to an end also very suddenly, for, as he stood wiping his eyes, he found that Hazel Thorne was looking in his direction with so much pain and annoyance expressed in her countenance that he bit his lips, and his eyes said plainly, if she could have read the glance, "Pray forgive me; it was very foolish."

Just then the inspector took out another sheet of paper, and moved on to a different cla.s.s, that which Hazel had been keeping in order, and here, in due rotation, he tried the children in the various subjects they had been learning with a most melancholy effect. The timid children he seemed to freeze; others he puzzled by his peculiar way of asking questions; while, again, others he made stare at him in a way that plainly indicated that they did not understand a word he said.

Mr Barracombe, however, paid little heed to this, but went on putting queries, and making notes most industriously, while the sisters stood tightening their lips, till George Canninge came and joined them, when Beatrice, who had been growing more and more acid every minute, began to beam once more, and made remarks to him about the school.

"I am so sorry that the children are answering in this absurd way. I take great interest in the schools, and come down and teach, so that it seems like a reflection upon me."

"They don't understand him," said George Canninge impatiently.

"I'm afraid they do," replied Beatrice quickly, for she could not resist the temptation to say something unpleasant, "but they are so backward."

She meant to have said "badly taught," but hesitated at the last moment.

"Well, what can you expect?" said Canninge. "The inspector asks too much of children of their cla.s.s. Why, they could not answer his questions in a first-cla.s.s school."

"But this is a first-cla.s.s school, Mr Canninge," cried Rebecca sharply.

"Hush, dear; Mr Barracombe is asking the second cla.s.s some geography questions;" and as they listened they caught the end of an inquiry about the Ouse--its source, tributaries course, and the chief towns upon its banks.

"Well, hang me if I could tell him," said Canninge; "and I shall be surprised if the children do."

He was not surprised, for no satisfactory answer came. The children told the inspector the capital of England readily enough, and the names of the princ.i.p.al rivers; but his way was so strange to them that for the most part the little things did not comprehend his questions, and Hazel's heart sank as she sighed for the apparent density that had fallen upon the different cla.s.ses.

Everything went badly: the writing from dictation was terrible, and the sentences made of the words read out by the inspector were horribly void of meaning. The Reverend Henry Lambent's face grew more troubled, the ladies whispered together, and the buzz of the school seemed to Hazel to make her dizzy, as she strove hard, with her nerves strained by excitement, to keep the different cla.s.ses in order, while every time she thought of the ordeal that had to come, she turned sick with misery, and longed for the end of the day.

"I should like to punch his 'ead, Betsey," whispered Mr William Forth Burge at last. "What's the good of asking them children a queshtun like that! They can't make out a word he says."

"Hush! Don't interfere, Bill. It might make Miss Thorne more nervous.

Pore dear, she do look bad."

"I don't know as I shan't interfere," whispered back the great man of Plumton. "I consider that I've got a bit of a voice in this school, and I don't see no fun in this chap going away saying that everything's wrong when I know it ain't. How can he tell, just coming strange among the bairns, and asking a few queshtuns anyhow like! If they don't answer 'em he sets it down they can't, when I know all the time they can."

"But you'll make it worse for Miss Thorne," whispered little Miss Burge; "and she's worried to death as it is."

"Well, I don't want to do that," he said sulkily; and he held his tongue whilst cla.s.s after cla.s.s was examined, even those children who were tried in catechism mixing the answers up in the most absurd way, or staring helplessly in the speaker's face.

"I don't care," whispered Mr William Forth Burge at last; "he don't know how to ask queshtuns, and for two pins I'd tell him so; now then."

"Oh don't, Bill dear; it would not be gentlemanly. Pray do be quiet."

"Look here, then; if Lambent asks me up to dinner to meet that chap, I shan't go."

"Hush, Bill! She's going to give the girls, a hobject lesson."

For the crucial time had come, and about forty of the elder girls had been faced and marched into the gallery to sit opposite their teacher, while the visitors rearranged themselves--the Misses Lambent with an air of long-suffering, the vicar with an air of intense trouble upon his face, while Mrs Canninge looked vexed, and the Burges disappointed and cross.

The inspector seated himself at one of the desks and commenced a fresh sheet of paper, while, saving the subdued buzz in the various cla.s.ses, a painful stillness was in the room, and Hazel felt her heart throb heavily, and plainly heard its beats.

She took a simple subject, and began in a low, trembling voice, which sounded pained and husky, while the intensity of her nervousness was patent to all present; but after she had been going on for a minute or two, to her great relief George Canninge rose and left the schoolroom.

The girls were beginning to answer better now, and Hazel felt her courage rise a little; but her heart sank and she began to tremble again as she heard the door open once more, a step crossing the floor, and coming to where she was speaking. The next moment George Canninge said--

"One moment, Miss Thorne. You are hoa.r.s.e and tired."

As he spoke there was the pleasant gurgle of cold water being poured into a gla.s.s, and Beatrice turned pale with the rush of blood to her heart as she saw the young squire thoughtfully hand the gla.s.s to Hazel, who took it, giving him a grateful glance as she did so, and then drank the refreshing fluid with avidity.

"I will take the gla.s.s," he said in the most quiet, matter-of-fact way; and then Hazel felt as if a new spirit had been sent into her veins. It was so gentle and thoughtful an act, coming as it did when she was faint and sick with the heat and agitation; and, turning to her cla.s.ses, she felt a strength within her that seemed to her astonishing.

She went on with the lesson, and her faltering voice grew stronger, her questions clearer and more incisive; she described and painted in vivid colours to the children the object she had made the theme of her lesson; and in another few moments as if by a sympathetic touch, the children were _en rapport_ with her; their young cheeks flushed, their eyes were full of eagerness, and there was an excited burst of answers every time she spoke, clearer and brighter and plainer. Word-painting in the simplest and cleverest touches, simplicity and yet vivid colouring. The teacher had forgotten self, the nervousness had gone, and a quarter of an hour pa.s.sed rapidly by as Hazel, in her ambition to prove that the children over whom she had worked so hard were not the dunces they had seemed, explained her subject, making it geographical, historical, and orthographical as well, till when at last, after an admirable finish, she stood there flushed, her eyes brightened and turned to the inspector as if to ask for further commands, Mr William Forth Burge "forgot himself"--so Miss Lambent afterwards put it--for he burst out with a hearty--

"Brayvo! brayvo! brayvo!" clapping his hands loudly; and this infected George Canninge, who joined in the applause.

"A capital lesson," he said aloud; "a capital lesson, indeed."

Mr Lambent smiled, and bowed to Hazel, saying softly--

"Very good indeed."

"Ah--yes," said the inspector, rising; "I must say--a very good lesson.

Miss Thorne; and I hope by the time I come again I may find the girls considerably advanced. At present--I will say no more. Good morning."

There was a polite procession formed, and the visitors slowly pa.s.sed through the door, the gentlemen seeing the ladies off first, but not until little Miss Burge had trotted back to whisper to Hazel--

"You did it beautiful, my dear," and then hurried away.