“Without Kit, I promise,” repeated Gaffer. Then he and Addison shook hands, and Addison followed Kit.
She was waiting in the hall. “What did you say to Gaffer?” she asked inquisitively, but Addison shook his head. He could keep his own counsel even when coerced by pinches.
At lunch Gaffer inquired: “Addison, can you read?”
“Not well!” answered Kit. “He can’t read well; he’s only doing ‘sequel,’ and he’s six. He’s very backward!”
“I asked Addison, my dear,” said Gaffer, in gently reproving tones.
Addison blushed and held down his head; then he said: “I don’t like what I read; it’s so uninteresting. They ask such silly questions, over and over again.”
“He knows heaps of poetry!” said Kit magnanimously. “He can learn anything when he’s heard it once, and he knows pages of verses, and psalms, and that, but he’s no good on horseback. He’s got no nerve. Dad says he’ll never be any good across country! And he’s afraid of the dark!”
“Are you not nervous?” asked Gaffer.
“Me nervous!” said Kit with great scorn. “I can ride dad’s chargers!”
“Ah, you’re like your mother,” said Gaffer, smiling at her. “Now I, I was never any good across country; but yet I haven’t found that it has alienated my friends, or done me any great damage in life. Has Addison begun Latin?”