Now Dr Budge was an old book-worm, supposed to be engaged in writing some mighty and learned work, who lived in a cottage on the Nearminster road. The children knew it and its owner very well, for it was not more than half a mile from the rectory, and they passed it whenever they drove into Nearminster. Its casement window was generally open, so that they could see him bending over his papers with his greenish wig pushed back from his forehead, and his large nose almost touching the top of his pen. The doctor was a tall, portly person with a red face, and had the air of being deeply occupied with some inward subject, so that he could spare no attention to outward things.
When he came to see their father, to whom he paid long visits, the children never expected him to notice them, or even to know them apart from each other, though he must have seen them so often. If the doctor ventured on a name it was always the wrong one, and lately he seemed to think it best to call them all “David,” which saved trouble and which no one thought of correcting.
And now he was to be Ambrose’s master. There was something rather awful in it, though at the same time there was a good deal to be proud of in having a master all to one’s self. Ambrose wondered what Pennie would think of it, and wished she were at home that he might hear her opinion.
“Of course he’ll call you ‘David,’” said Nancy, “and I should think he’d often forget you’re in the room at all. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Father’s going to take me to see him to-morrow,” said Ambrose. “Perhaps if he says very plainly ‘This is my son Ambrose,’ Dr Budge will remember.”
“Not a bit likely,” said Nancy. “He met me in the garden the last time he was here, and said, ‘How are you, David?’ Now you know I’m not a bit like David. I don’t believe he sees us at all when he looks at us.”
“I think,” said Ambrose, “that when people are very wise and know a great deal, that perhaps they always get like that.”
“Then I like silly people best,” said Nancy; but I don’t believe that’s true. Father’s as wise as he can be, and he always knows people apart, and calls them by their right names.
On their way to the doctor’s house the next day the vicar told Ambrose that it was a great honour and advantage to have such a master as Dr Budge.
“I hope you will always remember,” he said, “that he is a great scholar and a very wise man, and that it is extremely kind of him to be willing to teach a little boy like you. It is out of friendship for me that he does it, and I think I can trust you to do your best, and at any rate not to give him more trouble than you need.”