“You’d better take him away from school altogether,” said my aunt angrily.
“Well, yes,” said the doctor quietly; “as it is so near his holidays, he may as well stop away the rest of this half.”
“Richard!” cried my aunt as I sat there pinching my legs to keep from looking pleased.
“He will have to work hard at helping me with my collections, which are on the way here, I find, from a letter received this morning. There will be a great deal of copying and labelling, and that will improve his writing, though he does write a fair round hand.”
“But it will be neglecting his other studies,” cried my aunt.
“But then he will be picking up a good deal of Latin, for I shall explain to him the meaning of the words as he writes them, and, besides, telling him as much as I know of natural history and my travels.”
“And what is to become of the boy then?” cried my aunt. “I will not have him turn idler, Richard.”
“Well, if you think I have turned idler, Sophy,” he said laughing, and showing his white teeth, “all I can say is, that idling over natural history and travelling is very hard work.”
“But the boy must not run wild as—”
“I did? There, say it out, Sophy,” said her brother. “I don’t mind, my dear; some people look upon everything they do not understand as idling.”