When my father returned from America he was accompanied by Corporal John Fowles (who had also received a wound while rescuing his disabled cornet from the enemy), and on quitting the army he purchased the corporal's discharge, and took him as his body-servant. Three years before I was born, Fowles married my mother's maid, Nancy Buck; they never had children, so continued in their respective situations.
A strong, healthy child, I grew into a strong, healthy boy, with more than a fair share of animal spirits, and a most impetuous temper. I loved to "roam the fields for health unbought," to box and play single-stick with John Fowles, ride about the country with my sister, and take an occasional cruise in a Deal lugger—for Deal was barely an hour's walk from Charfield Rectory, and I knew nearly every fisherman on that part of the coast. Meanwhile my education was not neglected, as I studied daily with our curate, and with Mademoiselle Hettier, Kate's governess, an emigrée whose relatives had all perished during the "Terror." Thus passed my life until I attained my fourteenth year, by which time I was well instructed in the "three Rs," history and geography, could speak French fluently and with a tolerable accent, knew a very little Latin, and was able to stammer through the Greek alphabet.
"I wish to speak about your future," said my father one evening when I bade him good-night. "You are now fourteen, and it is quite time that I expressed my views on that subject. My great desire is, that you should take orders and eventually succeed to the living. Do you like the prospect?"
"Ye—es, sir," I hesitatingly replied; "yes, I think so—that is, if it wasn't for Latin and Greek. I am very poor at them, you know."
"That's not altogether your fault, my boy," was his rejoinder. "Mr. Scott owns he does not possess the gift of teaching, but he is leaving us, on preferment, next week, and the new curate I have engaged is a very competent tutor. You have heard me mention my nephew Septimus Blagg?"
"Yes, father."
"Well Septimus is a sound classical scholar, and has coached men at Oxford. He has just been ordained, and is coming here as curate and your tutor. He will soon bring you on, and when you're sufficiently prepared you shall go up for matriculation. Good-night, Dick."
"Good-night, sir." And I retired, not quite sure whether I felt pleased or the contrary.
Septimus Blagg arrived at Charfield in due course. He was a lanky, sallow-faced, red-haired young man, with a fawning manner and a low purring voice. From the very first, Kate and I disliked and mistrusted him. The new tutor was, no doubt, a fine scholar, and apparently took considerable pains to instruct me; but somehow or other, I did not seem to make much progress with my classical studies; we were always doing the same work over and over again; never going ahead. At the end of twelve months, Septimus informed my father that I had no talent whatever for Latin or Greek, and recommended him to choose for me some profession in which a knowledge of classics was not indispensable.