“How’s that?” asked the doctor.
This question was hard to answer all at once, but it led to others until the whole unlucky history of the crock and Miss Barnicroft’s money, and the failure of the museum, was unfolded. It took a very long time, but as he went on Ambrose found it easier to talk about than he could have supposed. The doctor was an admirable listener. He said almost nothing, but you could see by his face, and the way in which he nodded at the right places, that he was taking it all in. He did not seem surprised either at anything in the affair, and treated it all with great gravity, though from time to time his eyes twinkled very kindly.
“And so,” he said when Ambrose had finished, “the museum’s never been opened?”
“Never really opened,” said Ambrose, “and we wanted mother to do it on her birthday. The worst of it is,” he added more shyly, “that father said he couldn’t trust me any more. I mind that more than anything. It doesn’t so much matter for David, because he’s such a little boy, but I’m the eldest next to Pennie.”
“But all this was some time ago,” said the doctor. “Have you been careful to be quite obedient ever since it happened?”
Ambrose thought a moment.
“I think so,” he said. “You see there hasn’t been much to be obedient about, only just little everyday things which don’t make any difference.”
“You want something hard to do, eh?” asked the doctor.
Ambrose nodded.
“There’s nothing much harder to learn than obedience, my boy,” said the doctor, looking kindly at him. “It takes most of us all our lives to learn it. Latin’s much easier.”