Bess would have far outstripped her in learning. But Dil had a shrewd head, and was handy with her needle. She possessed what Yankee people call “faculty;” and her training had given her a sharp lookout for any short cuts in what she had to do, as well as a certain tact in evading or bridging over rough places.
But the reading was very hard labor. They did not know the meaning or the application of words, and their pronouncing ability was indeed halting.
They had not even attained to the practical knowledge acquired by mingling with other children. Dil’s life had been pathetic in its solitariness, like the loneliness of a strange crowd. Other children had not “taken to her.” Her days had been all work. She would have felt awkward and out of place playing with anything but a baby.
Bess found the most similitudes in Christiana. Even John Travis would have been amused by her literal interpretation. Though it had been simplified for children’s reading, it was far above their limited capacity. But the pictures helped so much; and when Dil could not get “the straight of it,” when the spiritual part tried and confused their brains, they turned to Christiana crossing the river and entering heaven.
Valiant Mr. Greatheart appealed strongly to Bess.
“He’s got such a strong, beautiful name,” she declared enthusiastically. “He always comes when there’s troubles, an’ gettin’ lost, an’ all that. I ’most wish his name was Mr. Greatheart. He could fight, I know; not this common, hateful fightin’ down here in the court, but with giants an’ wild beasts. An’ there were the boys, Dil; but I s’pose Owny wouldn’t care ’bout goin’.”
“Well,” Dil hesitated curiously, “you’ve got to try to be good some way, an’ Owny wouldn’t quit swearin’ an’ snivyin’ when he got a chance. An’ I don’t think he’d understand. Then he might tell mammy ’bout our plans.”
“An’ mammy jes’ wouldn’t let you stir a step, I know. An’ I couldn’t go athout you, Dil, though there’ll be many people on the road. I was most feared it would be lonesome like.”
“An’ I’ll be gettin’ a few clo’es ready, the best of thim. I’ll wash an’ iron your new white dress when we don’t go out no more, an’ put it away kerful. An’ I hope some one will give mother some clo’es for a big girl! I’ll be so glad to go, for sometimes I’m so tired I jes’ want to drop.”
“But October’s ’most gone. An’ last winter don’t seem long to me now, an’ the summer that was so hot,—but it had that beautiful Sat’day when we found him. An’ to think of havin’ him forever ’n’ ever!”