Bertie entered the library each day with a beaming face and shining eyes. He walked straight up to the Squire and put his little arms about his neck, and books and papers were all pushed to one side for a happy ten minutes, whilst the newly-found father took his little adopted son upon his knees, and talked to him as only fathers can.
And then came the business of the morning.
“We must try and make up for lost time now, Bertie,” said the Squire one day, very soon after this change in their relations to one another. “We must not be idle any longer, or we shall be growing up a little dunce.”
Bertie looked up quickly and smiled.
“I write copies every day for Mrs. Pritchard,” he said, “and I read to her in the evenings, and she takes the book when I’ve done, and makes me spell the hard words. I’ve done some sums, too, out of Charley’s book. I’d like to do more lessons. I don’t want to be a dunce!”
The Squire patted his head.
“No, no, I’m sure we don’t; and Dr. Lighton has no objection to short hours and easy tasks. We will leave the reading and writing and spelling to Mrs. Pritchard, but I will take the arithmetic and Latin. Do you think you have ever learnt any Latin?”
“Hic—hæc—hoc!” said Bertie, suddenly, and as suddenly stopped short.
The Squire smiled.
“Perhaps it will come back to you; you did not forget your reading and writing, and Dr. Lighton tells me you can speak French.”