“Stupid, sir? yes, I know I am, but I can’t help it; I’ve really done my best. I was up at five o’clock this morning, trying, trying so hard to learn this repetition. Indeed, indeed, I’m not idle, sir. I’ll try to do my duty if I can. O Power, I wish I were like you; you learn so quickly, and you never get abused as I do after it all.”
And then the poor boy fancied himself sitting under the gas-lamp in the passage as he had so often done, and trying to master one of his repetition lessons, repeating the lines fast to himself as he used to do—
“‘Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules,
Enisus—enisus arces—enisus arces attigit igneas,
Quos inter Augustus—’
“How does it go on?
“‘Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules,
Enisus arces attigit igneas, attigit igneas,
Quos inter Augustus recumbens—’”
“Oh, what does come next?” and he stopped with an expression of pain on his face, pressing his hands tight over his brow. “Don’t go on with the repetition, Johnny, dear,” said the poor mother. “I’m sure you know it enough now.”
“O, no! not yet, mother; I shall be turned, I know I shall to-morrow, and it makes him so angry; he’ll call me idle and incorrigible, and all kinds of things.” And then he began again—
“‘Sed quid Typhoeus aut validus Mimas,
Aut quid minaci Porphyrion statu,
Quid Rhoetus—Rhoetus—quid Rhoetus—’
“Oh, I shall break down here, I know I shall,” and he burst into tears. “It’s no good trying to help me, Power, I can’t learn it.”
“Leave off for to-night at least, Johnny,” said his mother, in a tone of anguish; “you can learn the rest to-morrow. Oh, what shall I do?” she asked, turning to the nurse; “I cannot bear to hear him go on like this.”