“Ah, Mr. Burgess,” said Mr. Merry, as Mr. Burgess’ eyes began to take in that matters had gone so far; “we have been talking about you. The only thing we could do, as we could not talk to you. There is a place that is very comfortable on a frosty morning. Eh?”
Mr. Merry’s way of addressing his head and his junior for the ears of the boys, had grown to a habit.
“Am I late?” said Mr. Burgess, in a casual, courteous tone.
“Good morning, Burgess,” said Herrick, his eyes on his book.
Mr. Merry sat down.
Mr. Burgess, as just perceiving that prayers were about to be held, took his seat.
“Pray do not allow us to keep you waiting for breakfast, Burgess,” said Herrick. “Take your seat at the table, I beg of you.”
“Oh no, Mr. Herrick. I shall like to … take my part with you as usual, thank you. It matters very little to me what time I breakfast. Often I am out of doors for an hour or two before. I have very little sense of time in the morning.”
There was a titter from the boys.
“Yes, Mr. Herrick,” said Mr. Merry, with an air of apology, and a fierce sidelong glance; “he goes out sometimes before breakfast to get his exercise, you know. Young fellows always will be thinking of keeping fit, you know.”
“Mr. Burgess will have to take out the boys this morning, Mr. Merry,” said Miss Basden, leaning forward.
Mr. Burgess sat with an air exclusively expectant of Herrick’s reading. He greatly disliked Miss Basden, though there was a belief among the boys that he designed to wed her. Herrick began to read, and Miss Basden listened with colour deepened, and Mr. Burgess with an appearance of attentive interest. When the assembly rose from its knees, Herrick at once bore the Bible from the room. Mr. Burgess stepped to the window, and sought the signs of the sky.
“Come, now, Mr. Burgess,” said Mr. Merry, making amends to his junior by lifting his bacon himself from the fender. “If you are not hungry by this time, you should be. Pray do not hurry. The boys will not hurt by a little waiting.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Merry,” said Mr. Burgess, coming to the table, and taking up the sugar tongs. “I had no idea of the time. But boys do not hurt by a little waiting; that is true. Adams, just see if my paper is in the hall.”
Adams obeyed with a feeling of respect for Mr. Burgess, which Mr. Merry was almost disposed to share. Mr. Burgess received his paper, and put down his fork to turn to its pages. Mr. Merry inquired if the boys were waiting for their footman to bring them their boots.
Mr. Burgess, left to himself, set to his breakfast with an energy he had not shown that day, except at his toilet. Even if boys did hurt by waiting, these would not have suffered. He put his paper in his pocket, and at a distance from the house began to read. Returning, he saw Mr. Merry at a window. He looked back at the paper, and in a moment turned to a boy and said: “So you see, Parliament thought that Bill a wrong one, and it was thrown out.”
“Well, what news, Mr. Burgess?” said Mr. Merry, coming into the hall.
“Oh, nothing to speak of. Just a few little things to glance at,” said Mr. Burgess, defining the scope of his attention. “Would you care to have the paper, Mr. Merry?”
“Thank you, Mr. Burgess, thank you. I am a poor man. I don’t rise to the Times.”
Mr. Burgess went without a word to the classroom where the elder pupils were taught. Mr. Merry shuffled into the other, and sat down before the younger boys. He had not been prompted to the teacher’s life by his liberal education. There were other and more urgent reasons for his choice.
Mrs. Merry taught the scripture of the school, and there was a general sense of her fitness for the task, based upon her temperament rather than her scholarship. Mr. Merry often mentioned the fact of her teaching it to parents.
The boys, who had a tendency to giggle this morning, took their seats about her table.
“It is the scripture lesson,” she said, with peaceful lips. “I think we are forgetting that.”
The boys read aloud a chapter verse by verse, and Mrs. Merry added observations, in a gentle, rather peculiar voice used only on these occasions. At questions she turned to the commentary, and read it out; and it was felt that difficulties had been met as far as reverence permitted. An especial discrepancy caused an increase of mirth. Mrs. Merry looked straight at the questioner.
“I don’t think we will cavil about it, Johnson. We will just think of it. That will be the best, and the most difficult thing. The book says nothing, you see.”
It was felt that a cheap effort had been made; but the laughter held its own.
Mrs. Merry looked very long at a boy.
“It is only the Bible, Bentley; only the most sacred book in existence that you are laughing at.”
“It is only the Bible, Bentley.”
“I shall have to give you up, boys.”
Mrs. Merry, with a look round that said many things, rose and walked from the room.
“Constant laughing and inattention make it impossible to teach them!”
Mr. Merry entered, hunching his shoulders and driving his hands violently into his pockets.
“Well, now, I am degraded. I am degraded. I feel it a personal humiliation to have to come and speak to people supposed to be gentlemen, about their making it impossible for a lady to teach them. For a lady to teach them scripture! For a lady to teach them holy things! There is an unspeakable thing to find
