For some little time our education progressed in a very desultory fashion. Major Buller became perversely prejudiced against governesses, and for a short time undertook to carry on our English lessons himself. He made sums amusing, and geography lessons “as good as stories,” though the latter so often led (by very interesting channels) to his dearly beloved insects, that Mrs. Buller accused him of making our lessons an excuse for getting out his “collection.”
With “grammar” we were less successful. Major Buller was so good a teacher that he brought out what intelligence we possessed, and led us constantly to ask questions about anything we failed to understand. In arithmetic this led to his helping us over our difficulties; in geography it led, sooner or later, to the “collection”; but in English grammar it led to stumbling-blocks and confusion, and, finally, to the Major’s throwing the book across the room, and refusing to pursue that part of our education any further.
“I never learnt English grammar,” said the Major, “and it’s quite evident that I can’t teach it.”
“If you don’t know grammar, Papa, then we needn’t,” said Matilda promptly, and being neat of disposition, she picked up the book and proceeded to put it away.
“I never said that I didn’t know grammar,” said the Major; “I fancy I can speak and write grammatically, but what I know I got from the Latin grammar. And, upon my soul,” added Uncle Buller, pulling at his heavy moustache, “I don’t know why you shouldn’t do the same.”
The idea of learning Latin pleased us greatly, and Major Buller (who had been at Charterhouse in his boyhood) bought a copy of Dr. Russell’s Grammar, and we set to work. And either because the rules of the Latin grammar bore explanation better than the English ones, or because Major Buller was better able to explain them, we had no further difficulties.
We were very proud of doing lessons in these circumstances, and boasted of our Latin, I remember, to the little St. Quentins, when we met them at the dancing-class. The St. Quentins were slender, ladylike girls, much alike, and rendered more so by an exact similarity of costume. Their governess was a very charming and talented woman, and when Mrs. St. Quentin proposed that Matilda and I should share her daughters’ French lessons under Miss Airlie, Major Buller and Aunt Theresa thankfully accepted the offer. I think that our short association with this excellent lady went far to cure us of the silly fancies and tricks of vulgar gossip which we had gleaned from Miss Perry.
So matters went on for some months, much to Matilda’s and my satisfaction, when a letter from my other guardian changed our plans once more.
Mr. Arkwright’s only daughter was going to school. He wrote to ask the Bullers to let her break the journey by spending a night at their house. It was a long journey, for she was coming from the north.
“They live in Yorkshire,” said Major Buller, much as one might speak of living in Central Africa.