Free The Mysterious Howling by Maryrose Wood

alphabets on slates with their slate pencils, while she drank three cups of milky tea to settle her nerves.
    The whole exercise was repeated daily for a week, and each time Penelope made the children sit still under the tree a bit longer before rewarding them. The children would quiver and tremble (Beowulf would sometimes drool), but they were soon able to resist actually chasing the squirrels, for whole minutes at a time. Even so, Penelope knew this was a lesson that would need frequent brushups.
    Now and then she would spot Old Timothy watching them, but he never spoke to her, nor to the children. If she caught his eye, he would offer a silent nod. Then off he would slink.

T HE S EVENTH C HAPTER
The pow’r of poetry leads to an unwanted invitation .
    â€œL UMAWOO ?”
    This is what the children had taken to calling Penelope. She trusted that “Miss Lumley” would come soon enough, but when they said “Lumawoo,” it was perfectly clear to whom they were speaking, and she knew no disrespect was intended. In fact, she rather liked the name. It reminded her of the nicknames babies give to favorite objects, their ba-bas and blankies and noo-noos and so forth.
    â€œYes, Beowulf?”
    â€œPoem!”
    The breakfast dishes had only just been cleared away. With Alexander’s assistance, Penelope had succeeded in heaving another log onto the hearth, and the nursery was feeling decidedly cozy. Beowulf’s request further increased Penelope’s sense of contentment. “Do you want to hear a poem, Beowulf? You are in luck; I was planning to read more poetry today. After lunch, I thought we might have a go at ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus.’”
    Beowulf shook his head. “No Wreckawoo.”
    Penelope frowned. She was the teacher, after all, and the decision ought to be hers. However, she had already made a false start with Dante’s Inferno and had to abandon reading it partway through, and she did not want to repeat this misstep with the Hesperus. She had chosen Dante because she found the rhyme scheme pleasingly jaunty, but she realized too late that the Inferno ’s tale of sinners being cruelly punished in the afterlife was much too bloody and disturbing to be suitable for young minds. Penelope could tell this by the way the children hung on her every word and demanded “More, more!” each time she reached the end of a canto and tried to stop.
    â€œNow, now, don’t be stubborn, Beowulf. ‘The Wreckof the Hesperus’ is by a poet called Longfellow, and it is a very dramatic tale. I think you will like it. It even has a shipwreck in it! Although, I suppose that’s obvious from the title.”
    Beowulf just stood before her, shaking his head no.
    â€œThat is not what you meant?”
    â€œNo Wreckawoo,” he repeated. “Wulfie am talk poem. Lissawoo!” By which he meant, “Listen!” Then he stood still and recited, with real feeling:
    â€œMoon, moon, moon .
Night, no moon? Dark .
Night, yes moon? Light!
Yes, moon!
Ahwooooo!”
    The other two children clapped enthusiastically. Penelope was astonished. “Beowulf, did you write that poem yourself?”
    He smiled sheepishly and nodded.
    â€œI am—well! I am most impressed!” Penelope had begun reading poetry to the children in the belief that it would improve their English faster than lists of spelling words ever could. Besides, she personally found poetry very interesting, and since her students weremore or less blank slates when it came to literature, she felt she might as well do what she liked. (As you may already know, the Latin term for “blank slate” is tabula rasa, a phrase the Incorrigibles would no doubt be exposed to a little further on in their educations.)
    But Penelope had not yet dared suggest the children begin composing works of their own. Clearly, she had underestimated them.
    â€œMe!” Alexander jumped up. “Lumawoo, me,