“We go into the meaning, line by line.”
“Humph!” Aunt Briscoe said again,—“I suppose you don’t attempt Latin?”
The boys exchanged looks, and blushed. Maimie said,—“A little,” half smiling.
“O Maimie, you didn’t mean to tell mother till we could say our declensions,” cried the children.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Maimie gently.
Aunt Briscoe looked hard at her again. “Who taught you all this?”
“My mother, partly,” said Maimie. “And I have been to a good school.”
“It’s you that have been so ill lately,” was Aunt Briscoe’s next remark. “Well again now, I suppose?”
“O yes, quite.”
“She is very far from strong,” I said. “The doctor wants her to get away for change; but just at present we can’t manage it.”