When Mamma saw the Accidence open on the drawing-room table she shut it
and told you to put it in its proper place. If you talked about it her
mouth buttoned up tight, and her eyes blinked, and she began tapping with
her foot.
There was something queer about learning Greek. Mamma did not actually
forbid it; but she said it must not be done in lesson time or sewing
time, or when people could see you doing it, lest they should think you
were showing off. You could see that she didn't believe you _could_ learn
Greek and that she wouldn't like it if you did. But when lessons were
over she let you read Shakespeare or Pope's _Iliad_ aloud to her while
she sewed. And when you could say:
"Lars Porsena of Clusium
By the nine Gods he swore"--
straight through without stopping she went into London with Papa and
brought back the _Child's First History of Rome_. A Pinnock's _Catechism
of Mythology_ in a blue paper cover went with the history to tell you all
about the gods and goddesses. What Pinnock didn't tell you you found out
from Smith's _Classical Dictionary_. It had pictures in it so beautiful
that you were happy just sitting still and looking at them. There was
such a lot of gods and goddesses that at first they were rather hard to
remember. But you couldn't forget Apollo and Hermes and Aphrodite and
Pallas Athene and Diana. They were not like Jehovah. They quarrelled
sometimes, but they didn't hate each other; not as Jehovah hated all the
other gods. They fitted in somehow. They cared for all the things you
liked best: trees and animals and poetry and music and running races and
playing games. Even Zeus was nicer than Jehovah, though he reminded you
of him now and then. He liked sacrifices. But then he was honest about
it. He didn't pretend that he was good and that he _had_ to have them
because of your sins. And you hadn't got to believe in him. That was the
nicest thing of all.
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