American history was taught by both the Benjamins. It was their hobby. Not the sort of history taught in most schools, “fixed up” for the young, but the true history of our country—its blunders, its stupidities, its triumphs.
So through the whole curriculum, acquiring knowledge was a pleasant thing. It was not a matter of being fed with little unrelated chunks of information, on this or on that. It was rather being led into a great field, where now this part, now that, held your interest, but you never lost sight of the whole expanse.
As for play, there were nutting expeditions, hay rides, marshmallow roasts, any number of out-of-door joys. It was as nearly a normal life as can be reached in these days of ours.
To Isabelle it was unbelievable. Everything they did during the day interested her. Her old passion for leadership spurred her on, but now it was a spur to excel in legitimate things. Her sense of rebellion was laid away, because she liked nearly everything she had to do, and her days were so busy that there was no excess vitality to work itself off in pranks.
Not that she was a reformed soul—far from it! There were times when she balked the duties she liked least, and was gently called upon by Mrs. Benjamin to punish herself. After the first amusement of this novelty wore off, it became plain to her that the punishment she administered to herself was always more severe than any one else would have prescribed. Sometimes punishment was decided upon by the community as a whole. By degrees the girls all began to realize “the social spirit” for the first time in their self-centred, individualistic lives.
“Mrs. Benjamin,” Isabelle said one day, bursting into the presence of that lady, “I feel full of the devil to-day!”
“Dost thou, Isabelle? Dear me! we must think of something to dispossess him.”
“Better give me something hard to do.”
“It is now half past eight. Suppose thee goes down to the big field to help Henry pitch hay until ten.”