On coming out of church, in the afternoon, John, looking at the beautiful green shady bank of the river, proposed a walk along it; all the party gladly acceded, except Theodora, who, not without a certain pleasure in separating herself from them, declared that there was a child who must be made to say her hymn before going home.
‘Can’t you excuse her for once?’ said Lord Martindale.
‘No, papa.’
‘Not if I beg her off publicly?’
‘No, thank you. There is a temper that must be overcome.’
‘Then flog her well, and have done with it,’ said Arthur. Deigning no reply, she pounced upon her victim as the procession of scholars came out of church, ‘Come, I am waiting to hear you say it. “How doth the little—“’
The child stood like a post.
‘That is a Benson, I am sure,’ said Mr. Fotheringham. Theodora told him he was right, and went on exhorting the child; ‘Come, I know you can say it. Try to be good.
‘“How doth—“’
‘You know I always keep my word, and I have said I will hear you before either of us goes home.’