Mrs. L. About the usual time.
Doctor. The pupils will be coming back soon, won’t they? We must have every thing neat and tidy. Greenlake Seminary must keep up its reputation. I shall be glad to see the lads,—Hastings, Winders, and all the rest of them. What rogues they are: I hope they’ll behave better this term, and keep our Harry—no, Harry’s dead.
Dilly. O doctor! don’t talk about the school: let that take care of itself. Talk to me.
Doctor. Harry’s dead. What day is this, Dilly?
Dilly. The 1st of August.
Doctor. Harry’s dead. Five years ago; it was a beautiful day when we buried him. Don’t you recollect it Dilly: we placed a marble slab over him—we took it from the village bank. I don’t understand why we did that. Do you, Dilly?
Dilly. No matter, doctor. Let’s talk of something else: you know you promised me a sail on the lake this afternoon.
Doctor. (Looking at his watch.) Nine o’clock: come, boys, to your places,—to your places. Master Root, you were very imperfect in your history yesterday: be careful sir—be careful. Master Hastings, why must I speak to you so often about your grammar. Master Winders, you were in Farmer Bates’s orchard last night. Harry, Harry,—dear, dear, I forgot! Harry’s dead.
Lucy. Dear father, don’t talk any more about Harry.
Doctor. Why, Lucy, child, where have you been all day? Where have you been?