Sylvia's Lovers - Page 64/290

'What for hast thou brought candles?' asked Bell, in a

half-affronted tone.

Hepburn smiled.

'Sylvia thought it would take a deal of candlelight, and was for

making it into a reason not to learn. I should ha' used t' candles

if I'd stayed at home, so I just brought them wi' me.' 'Then thou may'st just take them back again,' said Bell, shortly,

blowing out that which he had lighted, and placing one of her own on

the dresser instead.

Sylvia caught her mother's look of displeasure, and it made her

docile for the evening, although she owed her cousin a grudge for

her enforced good behaviour.

'Now, Sylvia, here's a copy-book wi' t' Tower o' London on it, and

we'll fill it wi' as pretty writing as any in t' North Riding.' Sylvia sate quite still, unenlivened by this prospect.

'Here's a pen as 'll nearly write of itsel',' continued Philip,

still trying to coax her out her sullenness of manner.

Then he arranged her in the right position.

'Don't lay your head down on your left arm, you'll ne'er see to

write straight.' The attitude was changed, but not a word was spoken. Philip began to

grow angry at such determined dumbness.

'Are you tired?' asked he, with a strange mixture of crossness and

tenderness.

'Yes, very,' was her reply.

'But thou ought'st not to be tired,' said Bell, who had not yet got

over the offence to her hospitality; who, moreover, liked her

nephew, and had, to boot, a great respect for the learning she had

never acquired.

'Mother!' said Sylvia, bursting out, 'what's the use on my writing

"Abednego," "Abednego," "Abednego," all down a page? If I could see

t' use on 't, I'd ha' axed father to send me t' school; but I'm none

wanting to have learning.' 'It's a fine thing, tho', is learning. My mother and my grandmother

had it: but th' family came down i' the world, and Philip's mother

and me, we had none of it; but I ha' set my heart on thy having it,

child.' 'My fingers is stiff,' pleaded Sylvia, holding up her little hand

and shaking it.

'Let us take a turn at spelling, then,' said Philip.

'What's t' use on't?' asked captious Sylvia.

'Why, it helps one i' reading an' writing.' 'And what does reading and writing do for one?' Her mother gave her another of the severe looks that, quiet woman as

she was, she could occasionally bestow upon the refractory, and

Sylvia took her book and glanced down the column Philip pointed out

to her; but, as she justly considered, one man might point out the

task, but twenty could not make her learn it, if she did not choose;

and she sat herself down on the edge of the dresser, and idly gazed

into the fire. But her mother came round to look for something in

the drawers of the dresser, and as she passed her daughter she said

in a low voice-'Sylvie, be a good lass. I set a deal o' store by learning, and

father 'ud never send thee to school, as has stuck by me sore.' If Philip, sitting with his back to them, heard these words he was

discreet enough not to show that he heard. And he had his reward;

for in a very short time, Sylvia stood before him with her book in

her hand, prepared to say her spelling. At which he also stood up by

instinct, and listened to her slow succeeding letters; helping her

out, when she looked up at him with a sweet childlike perplexity in

her face: for a dunce as to book-learning poor Sylvia was and was

likely to remain; and, in spite of his assumed office of

schoolmaster, Philip Hepburn could almost have echoed the words of

the lover of Jess MacFarlane-I sent my love a letter,

But, alas! she canna read,

And I lo'e her a' the better.