He could not go into the intricacies of physiology, as he did with some of the students.
"You did not go to school?"
"Oh, no!" She laughed softly. "The native schools were funny. They sat on mats and did not have any books, but repeated after the teacher. And, sometimes, he beat them dreadfully. There were some English people had a school, but it was to teach the language to the natives. And then Mr. Cathcart came to stay with father. He had been the chaplain somewhere and wasn't well, so they gave him a—a——"
"Furlough?" suggested Chilian.
"Yes; father sent him out in one of the boats. He began to teach me some things. I could read, you know. And I could talk Hindostani some—with the children. Then I learned to spell and pronounce the words better. He had a few books of verses that were beautiful. I learned some of them by heart. And Latin."
"Latin!" in surprise.
"He had some books and a Testament. It was grand in the sound, and I liked it. There were many things, cases and such, that I couldn't get quite straight, but after a little I could read, and then make it over into English."
When he was eight he was reading Latin and beginning French. Some of the Boston women he knew were very good French scholars, though education was not looked upon as a necessity for women. It seemed odd to him—this little girl in Calcutta learning Latin.
"Let us see how far you have gone." Teaching never irked him when he once set about it.
He hunted up a simple Latin primer.