Lawrence,
late that afternoon, to the group about him under the awning of the
after-deck, from which they were watching the sunset, some lounging in
the easy steamer-chairs, others in the hammocks which had been
stretched in every available space, and still others, among whom was
Dwight, resting full length on the large Persian rug, which had been
laid in the center of the deck planks. For the heat, and still, easy
motion made every one lazy.
Upon hearing this remark the boy looked up.
"Lamb dinner? I thought it was pig this morning. It hasn't changed
into sheep, I hope?"
"And must I really explain my observation to a lad about entering the
High School?" cried his uncle reproachfully. "I'll warrant Bess
knows--and somebody else, too!" catching the gleam in Hope's eye.
"Oh, yes, I understand, in a way," returned Bess. "Let's see, Charles
Lamb, the writer, was very fond of roast pig, wasn't he?"
"Was he, Miss Hope?"
"Yes, sir, and wrote an essay upon it which has become a classic."
"Oh, of course! I'd almost forgotten that," put in Bess, hastily.
"And I'm free to confess I never knew it," added her brother. "Fact
is, I begin to think I didn't learn much in school, anyhow--that is,
much that I've needed since. I've picked up more about geography and
history on this trip than all I ever learned there."
"No, no, not quite that, my boy! You simply have digested what then
you only swallowed. Don't you know what Channing says--'It is not
enough to cram ourselves with a great load of collections--we must chew
them over again'? The fact is, nothing can ever be quite learned until
it is experienced.
Pages:
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110