What they call the little school-room is a small room at the other end
of the great school; through which you go to the Doctor's private house,
and where Miss Raby sits with her pupils. She has a half-dozen very
small ones over whom she presides and teaches them in her simple way,
until they are big or learned enough to face the great school-room. Many
of them are in a hurry for promotion, the graceless little simpletons,
and know no more than their elders when they are well off.
She keeps the accounts, writes out the bills, superintends the linen,
and sews on the general shirt-buttons. Think of having such a woman
at home to sew on one's shirt-buttons! But peace, peace, thou foolish
heart!
Miss Raby is the Doctor's niece. Her mother was a beauty (quite unlike
old Zoe therefore); and she married a pupil in the old Doctor's time who
was killed afterwards, a captain in the East India service, at the siege
of Bhurtpore. Hence a number of Indian children come to the Doctor's;
for Raby was very much liked, and the uncle's kind reception of the
orphan has been a good speculation for the school-keeper.
It is wonderful how brightly and gayly that little quick creature
does her duty. She is the first to rise, and the last to sleep, if any
business is to be done. She sees the other two women go off to parties
in the town without even so much as wishing to join them. It is
Cinderella, only contented to stay at home--content to bear Zoe's scorn
and to admit Rosa's superior charms,--and to do her utmost to repay her
uncle for his great kindness in housing her.
So you see she works as much as three maid-servants for the wages of
one. She is as thankful when the Doctor gives her a new gown, as if
he had presented her with a fortune; laughs at his stories most
good-humoredly, listens to Zoe's scolding most meekly, admires Rosa with
all her heart, and only goes out of the way when Jack Birch shows his
sallow face: for she can't bear him, and always finds work when he comes
near.
How different she is when some folks approach her! I won't be
presumptuous; but I think, I think, I have made a not unfavorable
impression in some quarters. However, let us be mum on this subject. I
like to see her, because she always looks good-humored; because she is
always kind, because she is always modest, because she is fond of those
poor little brats,--orphans some of them--because she is rather pretty,
I dare say, or because I think so, which comes to the same thing.
Though she is kind to all, it must be owned she shows the most gross
favoritism towards the amiable children. She brings them cakes from
dessert, and regales them with Zoe's preserves; spends many of her
little shillings in presents for her favorites, and will tell them
stories by the hour. She has one very sad story about a little boy, who
died long ago: the younger children are never weary of hearing about
him; and Miss Raby has shown to one of them a lock of the little chap's
hair, which she keeps in her work-box to this day.