Ah, I might have guessed that something was wrong, when I saw him so extra merry.
“But it wasn’t your fault, Jack,” cried Cherry.
“I don’t know. They said it was.”
“Two and two made five, I suppose, by way of variety,” Cress said, with a superior air.
“No, not quite so bad as that,” Jack replied humbly.
I did not want to have any more about it in public; so I got up, and there was a general move. The children came flocking upstairs after us, but I soon sent the three youngest down again. My husband looked more than usually tired, and was quickly nodding in his arm-chair, instead of reading. Cherry stayed behind to wash up the tea-things. She was very quick, however, and in no long time came among us. Cresswell and Owen were learning their lessons, and Jack had taken a seat near me, with his chin on his hands, and his eyes following my needle.
“What a shame it is boys can’t work!” he said, as Cherry came in.
“I don’t see why they can’t,” said Cherry, taking up a half-knitted sock. “Some do.”
“My fingers are much too clumsy for anything of that sort,” said Jack.
“I don’t think your fingers are really clumsy, Jack,” Cherry answered, and she looked earnestly at him. “They are so clever at carpentering. And if any one is ill, your hands are so strong and gentle. It is only writing that they find difficult.”