Free Perdita by Hilary Scharper Page A

thelace!
    June 2
    I was so angry that I could not write yesterday. I was afraid of what words I might put down. She is truly nasty and spiteful. Poor Allan! Innocent fool, he had no idea of what he was getting himself into. And I am utterlywretched.
    Auntie A. and I went to tea. Mr. Thompson was there, too, though Dr. McTavish and old Mr. Stewart were not in attendance. Auntie A. was nervous but pleased to be there, and I felt splendid in my new dress. Though I was slightly ashamed that I had made sure to peruse Mother’s books of French poetry for ammunition against Miss Ferguson should the need arise. I could tell I looked becoming by the way that Mr. Thompson bowed to me, and even George seemed to approve as he took myhand.
    Mrs. Stewart is rather formal about her tea, so we waited while her housekeeper supervised the dishware and the setting out of the scones and cakes. Susan and Auntie Alis do not get along at all. I am sure that Susan looks down upon us and thinks that we have no business at all coming totea.
    I chatted with Mr. Thompson about his nets and the birds he and Dr. McT. had caught and examined when George asked me if I was going to tutor Allan again this summer. Truly I still feel sorry for him. Miss Ferguson seemed engrossed in a conversation with George, and I don’t know why, but for some reason I felt my spirits growing a bit depressed. Eventually George joined us. Mr. Thompson had just finished instructing me on how to tell the difference between the pileated woodpecker ( Dryocopus pileatus ) and the yellow-bellied sapsucker ( Sphyrapicus varius ). I already knew the difference quite well, but I allowed this instruction since he meant it sokindly.
    I didn’t quite know how to answer George’s question, as there was a part of me that had assumed I would continue with his studies, and yet I wasn’t sure the Stewarts would wish it. So there was an awkward silence. Allan finally broke it by saying somewhat sheepishly that he was getting too old to be tutored, and besides, these were his summer holidays. I smiled and said that I would give him one examination and that if he remembered his Latin declensions and recited them correctly, then he could have the rest of the summer off. Allan brightened, and he came over tome.
    â€œTruly,” he said. “Do you mean ittruly?”
    â€œYes,” I said, still smiling. He is such a scamp! And I knew quite well how unlikely his success would be. I must admit that I had already planned to introduce him to more of the classics this summer and had begun to do some reading inpreparation.
    â€œAll right. I’ll do it!” he exclaimed. “Latin is of no use to anyone anyway! I don’t see why I must studyit.”
    It was then that Mr. Thompson broke in and discoursed quite earnestly and at length on the importance of learning Latin for the sciences, and so forth. He was so serious that I had to smile just a little—he pronounces his words with ever so tiny a lisp that at times I have to work hard to keep the corners of my mouth from curlingupward.
    Then Allan began to clown and started to name everything and everyone in the room in the most absurdLatin.
    He called Corrie an infans adoranda .
    George was an artistus robustus and I, his magistra formidalae . Indeed I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from correcting his vocabulary and egregious disagreements in gender, number, andcase!
    Then he expounded upon our habits as if we were all birds and gave us all sorts of ridiculous characteristics. He made Effie smile when he said that she was either a mourning dove (a cooing and gentle creature) or the sora, I think referencing her surprisingly large feet for someone of so short a stature—though I was more than a little scandalized by his boldness. Fortunately, Effie has the best of temperaments, and she laughed quite heartily athim.
    But still, there was something in Allan, the edge of something that I could not quite