“I wish he would call something an ancient complaint to which old people were prone,” thought Philomène. “And I’m sure it’s just as bad to be always finding fault with the times in which one lives as with the house.” But out loud she only said, “And may I come here sometimes, please, and will you tell me a few more stories? Godmother tells me beautiful stories which she makes up as she goes along, but she has so many people to visit and so many things to do that I cannot see her very often, and I know all my books nearly by heart, and Nurse can only tell stories about the families she was with before she came to me, and all those children seem to have been so dull and good.”
“In these days,” replied Sweet William, “next to nothing can be done without first passing examinations, so if you are willing to come here to-morrow afternoon at about this time by a reliable clock (don’t go by the nursery clock, for it is not very well regulated), I will set you an examination paper all about fairies and fairyland. If you do well in it, that is to say if your marks add up to 75 per cent, you shall have a prize.”
“What will the prize be?” asked Philomène, shyly.
“A latchkey just like mine, so that you can let yourself in, whether I am at home or not. And now,” said Sweet William rising, “I really must be off. I have a lot of extra work in the spring time, with all the swallows coming home.”
Philomène rose also, and the little door swung open in the wall. She stepped out upon the path, and the sunlight dazzled her, so that she had to shade her eyes with her hand. “I am very glad to have met you, and I will certainly come again to-morrow,” she was just beginning to say, when she noticed that Sweet William was gone. For a minute she stood and stared at the key-hole, which stared back at her. A warm west wind went past her, the blackbird was still singing his heart out in the lilac bush, and the air was full of the fragrance of green and growing things. At her feet lay the dandelion stalk.
Philomène picked up her watering-can and ran with it up the iron staircase into the schoolroom, where she found Nurse asleep in her favourite basket chair. “Oh, Nurse, do wake up, dear good old Nurse,” she called out eagerly, “and tell me who put green ribbons on to my christening dress!”
“Bless the child,” returned Nurse drowsily, “who ever has been talking that nonsense to you? It was your godmother, and a heathenish fancy I thought it too at the time. And there’s no call for you to be speaking so loud either that I can see; I wasn’t asleep, I was only resting my eyes.”
CHAPTER V
IN WHICH THE HEROINE DISTINGUISHES HERSELF
The next day seemed a long time in coming, but come it did. So did Miss Mills. Miss Mills was young and pretty, and she thought herself even prettier than she was. During the past year or two, she had been giving daily lessons to Philomène, but she was not fond of teaching, and her temper was uncertain.
“Tell me at once,” she said sharply, as the lesson dragged itself towards its close, “what did Edwin and Morcar do?”