“Parents of high-grade pupil-teachers,” remarked Jo with equal severity, “don’t use such expressions as ‘up to you.’ They employ only the best English.”
“It has been sufficiently exhausting to act as the parent of low-grade twins without beginning to live up to them as high-grade pupil-teachers,” said her father, laughing. “However, I’ll try, being of a meek spirit. Will you, my children, address yourselves to the problem of framing a suitable scheme of educational training for——”
“Oh, Daddy, do say something like ‘that blessed kid,’ to finish with, and then I’ll know it’s you!” cried Jean.
“I meant to,” said Mr. Weston with a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t have kept it up a second longer. Well, what are you going to do about it, anyhow?”
“We’ve been trying to work out a scheme for a week,” Jo said. “There’s such a lot to be thought of. Mrs. Forester said specially that she didn’t want him to have too many lessons—three hours a day would be quite enough for him. Is that enough for Billy?”
“Well, Billy could stand more. But three hours will do for the present,” said Mrs. Weston, who was knitting in her armchair by the window, profiting by the last gleam of daylight. The long summer day was over, and a cool breeze had begun to blow across the scorched, bare plains. Rex and Billy, wearied by battle, were already in bed, in their corner of the verandah, sleeping peacefully. The twins had tucked them up, and were now ready for a family conclave.
“Well—lessons, three hours. We’ve got to fit that in with our own work,” said Jean. “You see, we’re going to do most of the housework. We mean to get up at five in the summer, and get most of it done before breakfast. That leaves Sarah pretty free. Of course, we don’t want Mother to do anything at all.”
“A nice sort of person I should soon become!” said Mrs. Weston, laughing. “Disgracefully fat and hopelessly lazy! It seems hard that you should deliberately conspire to ruin an excellent character like mine!”
“Oh, we know well enough you’ll always be busy, darling,” Jo said, laughing. “You can have the mending of all Billy’s trousers, for one thing: and that’s about enough to keep you busy. But we don’t want you to have any definite housework. We’ve talked it all out with Sarah, and arranged everything. She insists on turning out one room every day—so we’re going to get it all ready for turning out, and do the rest of the housework. It’ll be quite easy, because nothing will ever get dirty or untidy.”
“My poor lambs!” murmured Mrs. Weston, gazing at this picture of youthful optimism.