'Yes, father, and I've read the chapter of _Little Arthur's History_
too,' Celestina replied.

'Well, then,' said Mr. Fairchild, drawing his chair nearer to the table
again--he had pushed it close to the fire--'bring your slate and your
books. I'll correct the sums and set you some more, and then we'll have
a little history. I will question you first on the chapter you have read
to yourself.'

Celestina could not help an appealing glance at her mother--she had the
two little dolls in her hand, poor Amy still looking very deplorable in
her skirt-less condition. Mrs. Fairchild understood her though no word
was spoken.

'I thought you were going back to write in the shop,' she said gently to
her husband. 'The stove is still hot.'

'I am too tired,' he replied, and indeed he looked so. 'There is nothing
so very pressing, and it's too late for the London post. No--I would
rather take Celly's lessons; it will be a change.'

Mrs. Fairchild said no more, nor did Celestina--father's word was law.
The little girl did not even look cross or doleful, though she gave a
tiny sigh as she fetched her books. She was a docile pupil, thoughtful
and attentive, though not peculiarly quick, and Mr. Fairchild, in spite
of his rather nervously irritable temper, was an earnest and intelligent
teacher. The sums were fairly correct and the multiplication table was
repeated faultlessly. But when it came to the history Celestina was less
ready and accurate in her replies.