‘Both knees are grazed,’ said Eliza to Bennet, as though this might have been expected.
‘Oh, dear, oh, dear!’ said Henry.
‘Come, that is not so bad,’ said Miss Ridley. ‘Children must sometimes fall, and he was very brave.’
‘Was he?’ said Fabian. ‘How would cowardice be shown?’
‘I wasn’t thinking of him,’ said Henry. ‘There are other things that matter. And Megan and I don’t always think about him. I had a thought of my own.’
‘You ought to get out of the habit of saying, “Oh, dear, oh, dear!”’
‘It isn’t a habit. I don’t say it if there isn’t a reason. Reasons can’t be a habit. They are there.’
‘You are proud of saying it,’ said Guy, ‘because great minds tend to melancholy. I know the book that says it.’
‘I don’t read the book; I don’t often read,’ said Henry.
‘Now there is another change we might see,’ said Miss Ridley.
‘There are real changes that ought to be made, and never will be,’ said Henry, checking his natural exclamation.
‘Now there is the first effort made. I congratulate you, Henry.’
‘I wasn’t making an effort.’
‘I think you were. You see I think better of you than you think of yourself.’
‘People are always ashamed of trying to be better,’ said Megan.
‘I should be sorry to think so,’ said Miss Ridley. ‘Would you be ashamed of it?’
‘I shall never know, because I shall never try.’
‘I think that shows you would be,’ said Guy.
‘Now Henry may say, “Oh, dear, oh, dear!” ‘said Miss Ridley. ‘I see there is reason.’
‘People are ashamed of thinking they are not good enough as they are,’ said Fabian.
‘And yet they would not admit to a high opinion of themselves,’ said another voice. ‘I suppose they could not, as it would be so very high.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Clare,’ said Miss Ridley. ‘Say good morning to your mother, children.’
The children smiled without speaking, according to a law which they never broke, and of which their mother was not aware.
‘Why do you play just here, the one unpleasant place? Did not one out of half a dozen of you think of that?’
‘Everyone thought of it,’ said Megan, ‘but Toby wanted to watch the hens.’
‘Did he leave directions that you were all to abide by his choice?’
Megan laughed, and her mother kissed her and turned to the boys.
‘How are all my sons this morning? No one in trouble, I hope?’ she said, her eyes going to Henry and Guy, who were disposed to this state.
‘Some minds tend to it,’ said Henry, raising his eyes to her face.
‘Guy is pale this morning, Miss Ridley. He does not seem as strong as the others.’
‘He is not, Mrs Clare. Indeed he is one by himself in many ways.’
‘And Fabian’s clothes look different. The brothers should be alike.’
‘He is reaching the stage of choice. And likeness to younger brothers is not always part of it.’
‘Well, if he knows his own mind, he has a right to follow it.’
‘You are an indulgent mother, Mrs Clare.’
‘I never see why children should not please themselves, as long as they do nothing wrong.’
‘Would it be wrong not to learn anything?’ said Henry.
‘It would be wrong of me to let you be unprepared for life.’
‘Toby is unprepared, and people seem to like him.’
‘Dear little boy! I should hope he is at three years old.’
‘I ought not to be so very prepared at eight.’
‘Well, I do not suppose you are, my little son.’
‘I am more prepared than you know. I am ready for things to happen. Is Megan more prepared than I am?’
‘I should not wonder. Little girls sometimes are.’
‘They are all of the independent type,’ said Miss Ridley. ‘Guy is again the exception.’
‘Fabian and Megan remind me of each other. They are a true brother and sister.’
‘They are really only half one,’ said Henry.
‘You surely do not feel that?’
‘No, I just know it,’ said Henry, as he followed the others.
Flavia Clare looked after the group of children. She was a tall, thin woman of forty, with a wide, full head, a firm, curved mouth, honest hazel eyes that seemed to know their own honesty, and hair and clothes as unadorned and unadorning as custom permitted. An air about her of being a personality suggested that she was aware of this, and was careful to give it no thought.
‘It is hard to be impartial to them all, Miss Ridley. I wonder how far I succeed.’
‘I should say to an unusual degree, Mrs Clare. I always feel inclined to congratulate you.’
‘And I gave you the opportunity. What do you think, Miss Bennet? I am giving it to you as well.’
‘Yes. Oh yes,’ said Bennet, recalling her eyes and her thoughts. ‘People say they might all be your own children.’
‘And you would not say it? I have tried to make them so.’
‘You could not do any more,’ said Bennet, in a tone of honest sympathy.
‘And there is so much more to be done. I did not know how much it would be, how easy it would be to fail. But I suppose some failure must be accounted human success. We must be content with our human place.’
A bell rang in the house, and Miss Ridley turned and went towards it with a running gait, that seemed to incommode her without adding to her speed. Bennet followed without sign of haste, and they reached the house together. The children went severally to the nursery and the schoolroom, in accordance with the convention that allotted the most stairs to the shortest legs, or to those that had to be spared them.
Bennet sat at the head of her table, with Henry and Megan at the sides. Eliza’s place was at the bottom, with Toby’s high chair at her hand, so that she could divide her attention between her own meals and his. As she carried him from his bed to the chair, he exhibited signs of revulsion and turned his face over her shoulder.
‘Oh, your own nice chair!’
‘No,’ said Toby.
‘We don’t want anyone else to sit in it.’
Toby cast eyes of suspicion on Henry and Megan, and Eliza took advantage of the moment to insert him into the chair. He bowed to fate to the extent of merely uttering fretting sounds.
‘Now look at the nice dinner,’ said Eliza.
Toby gave it a glance of careless appraisement and settled to a game with his bib and mug, that involved a crooning song. When a spoon approached his lips he shut them tight.
‘Now what about feeding yourself?’ said Eliza, in a zestful manner.
Toby took the spoon, misled by the tone, but was repelled by the routine and cast the spoon on the ground. Eliza took another without a change of expression and proceeded to feed him, and he presently leaned over the chair.
‘Poor spoon!’ he said.
‘Yes, poor spoon! You have thrown it on the floor. It is all by itself down there.’
‘Oh, yes. All by itself. Toby not throw it. Eliza did.’
‘No, no, you know quite well you threw it yourself. Now eat your dinner or you won’t be a good boy,’ said Eliza, accepting Toby’s moral range.
A look of consternation came into the latter’s eyes, and he ate industriously.
‘Very good boy,’ he said, appealing to Bennet.
‘Yes, if you eat your dinner.’
Toby returned to his plate, but misliking the scraps left upon it, took it in both hands and threw it after the spoon. It broke and he fell into mirth.
‘Dear, dear, what a naughty thing to do!’ said Eliza.
Toby was lost in his emotion.
Henry and Megan picked up the pieces and broke them, to divert him further. The method succeeded too well, and he showed signs of hysteria and exhaustion.
‘No, no, go back to your seats,’ said Bennet. ‘He will be upset.’