“Oh, Hanover?” said Maggie with a tone of slight contempt. “We don’t think of Hanover now in our ideas of school-life. We had a fairly good time, for a German school; but to compare it with Mrs. Ward’s house! Oh, I cannot tell you what a dream of a life I have lived during the last term! It is only to see Mrs. Ward to love her; and all the other mistresses are so nice, and the girls are so very select and lady-like. Then we take a keen interest in our lessons. You’re the musical one, aren’t you, Merry?”
“Yes. How ever did you find that out?”
“Well,” said Maggie, “I looked at you, and I guessed it. Besides, I heard you hum an air under your breath yesterday, and I knew at once that you had a lovely voice.”
“I am sure I haven’t; and I’m too young to begin singing-lessons.”
“Not a bit of it. That’s quite an exploded idea. If, for instance––Oh, of course I know you won’t be there; but 31 if you were so lucky as to be a pupil at Mrs. Ward’s you would be taught to sing, and, what is more valuable, you would hear good, wonderful, beautiful singing, and wonderful, beautiful music of all sorts. Once a week we all go to a concert at Queen’s Hall. Have you ever been there?”
“No! I don’t know London at all.”
“Well, then, another day in the week,” continued Maggie, “we go to the different museums and picture-galleries, and we get accustomed to good art, and we are taught to discern good from bad. We learn architecture at St. Paul’s and the Abbey and some of the other churches. You see, Mrs. Ward’s idea is to teach us everything first-hand, and during the summer term she takes us on long expeditions up the river to Kew and Hampton Court and all those dear old places. Then, in addition, she has what she calls reunions in the evenings. We all wear evening-dress, and she invites two or three friends, and we sing and play among ourselves, and we are taught the little observances essential to good society; and, besides all the things that Mrs. Ward does, we have our own private club and our own debating society, and—oh, it is a full life!—and it teaches one, it helps one.”
Merry’s soft brown eyes were very bright, and her cheeks had a carnation glow on them, and her pretty red lips were slightly parted. “You do all these things at school—at school?” she said.
“Why, of course; and many, many more things that you can’t even imagine, for it’s the whole influence of the place that is so delightful. Then you make friends—great friends—and you get to understand character, and you get to understand the value of real discipline, and you are taught also that you are not meant to live a worldly and selfish life, for Mrs. Ward is very philanthropic. Each girl in her school has to help a poor girl in East London, and the poor girl becomes in a sort of manner her property. I have got a dear little lame girl. Her name is Susie Style. I am allowed to see her once or twice a year, and I write her a letter every week, and she writes back to me, and I collect enough money to keep her in a cripples’ home. I haven’t enough of my own, for I am perhaps the poorest girl in the school; but that makes no difference, for Mrs. Ward doesn’t allow the word money or rank to be spoken of—she lives above all that. She says that money is a great talent, and that people who are merely purse-proud are detestable. Oh, but I’ve told you enough, haven’t I?”
“Yes, oh yes!” said Merry. “Thanks very, very much. And so Aneta is there; and as Molly and Isabel will be there, they will tell me more at Christmas. Perhaps we ought to go down now to meet father in the manuscript-room.”