Mr. Sumner was not so easy to please. A disappointed artist, who hated
teaching, and only gave lessons from absolute necessity, this gentleman
had but little patience with the natural inexperience of an untrained
girl.
But Edith had made up her mind to overcome all difficulties, and it was
not very long before she began to make progress with the pencil too, and
to enjoy the drawing-lesson almost as well as the pleasant hours with
Monsieur Delorme.
These were almost the only things she did enjoy, however. It was hard
work to read for two hours every morning with Miss Rachel, who made her
plod wearily through dreary histories and works of science that are
reduced to compendiums and abridgements for the favoured students of the
present day.
But even that was better than the needlework, the hemming and stitching
and darning, over which Stimson presided, and which, good and useful as
it is, is apt to become terribly irksome when it is compulsory, and a
poor girl must get through her allotted task before she can turn to any
other pursuit.
Every day, too, Edith went into the kitchen and learned pastry-making
and other mysteries from the good-natured cook, who, with Stimson, and
the boy who came daily to look after the garden and pony made up Aunt
Rachel's household.
What with these occupations, and the daily walk or drive, the girl found
her time pretty well taken up, and had little to spare for the rambles
in the garden she loved so much, and for writing letters home.
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