Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood by George MacDonald
page 39 of 260 (15%)
page 39 of 260 (15%)
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"There's Kirsty, papa," I suggested. "Yes; there's Kirsty," he returned with a sly smile. "Kirsty can do everything, can't she?" "She can speak Gaelic," I said with a tone of triumph, bringing her rarest accomplishment to the forefront. "I wish you could speak Gaelic," said my father, thinking of his wife, I believe, whose mother tongue it was. "But that is not what you want most to learn. Do you think Kirsty could teach you to read English?" "Yes, I do." My father again meditated. "Let us go and ask her," he said at length, taking my hand. I capered with delight, nor ceased my capering till we stood on Kirsty's earthen floor. I think I see her now, dusting one of her deal chairs, as white as soap and sand could make it, for the minister to sit on. She never called him _the master_, but always _the minister_. She was a great favourite with my father, and he always behaved as a visitor in her house. "Well, Kirsty," he said, after the first salutations were over, "have you any objection to turn schoolmistress?" "I should make a poor hand at that," she answered, with a smile to me |
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