“Ah! you are of the old loyal nature,” said Gerald. “You of the old school can never see things by modern lights.”
“I am thankful to say—not,” responded Reginald Mohun, in a tone that made some laugh, and Gerald sigh in Anna’s ear—
“Happy those who see only one side of a question.”
There was another great day for the boys, namely, the speech or closing day at the school, when Fergus was the undoubted hero, and was so exalted that his parents thought it would be very bad for him, and were chiefly consoled by his strong and genuine dislike to having to declaim with Clement Varley the quarrel of Brutus and Cassius. He insisted on always calling the former “Old Brute,” and all the efforts of mother and aunt never got him beyond the dogged repetition of a lesson learnt by heart, whereas little Varley threw himself into the part with spirit that gained all the applause. Fergus carried off a pile of prizes too, but despised them. “Stupid old poetry!” said he, “what should I do with that? Do let me change it, father, for the Handbook of Paleontology, or something worth having.”
Adrian had three prizes too, filling Anna with infinite delight. He was not to go home immediately on the break-up of the school, but was to wait for his sisters, who were coming in a few days more with Lady Travis Underwood to the bazaar and masque, so that he would go home with them.
Neither the prospect nor the company of little Fely greatly reconciled him to the delay, but his mother could not believe that her darling could travel alone, and his only satisfaction was in helping Fergus to arrange his spare specimens for sale.
CHAPTER XVII. — EXCLUDED
But I needn’t tell you what to do, only do it out of hand,
And charge whatever you like to charge, my lady won’t make a stand.
—T. HOOD.
The ladies’ committee could not but meet over and over again, wandering about the gardens, which were now trimmed into order, to place the stalls and decide on what should and should not be.