Thanks to Aurelia’s private assistance, Eugene knew his lessons well enough for his excitement not to make him stumble so often as to prevent Betty’s pronouncing him a good boy, and dispensing with his copy, sum, piece, and reading, until the evening.  These last were very tough affairs, the recitation being from Shakespeare, and the reading from the Spectator.  There were no children’s books, properly so called, except the ballads, chap-books brought round by pedlers, often far from edifying, and the plunge from the horn-book into general literature was, to say the least of it, bracing.

The Delavie family was cultivated for the time.  French had been brought home as a familiar tongue, though Telemaque, Racine, and Le Grand Cyrus were the whole library in that language; and there was not another within thirty miles.  On two days in the week the sisters became Mesdemoiselles Elisabeth, Henriette, and Aurelie, and conversed in French over their spinning, seams, lace, or embroidery; nor was Aurelia yet emancipated from reciting Racine on alternate days with Milton and Shakespeare.

Betty could likewise talk German with the old Austrian maid, Nannerl, who had followed the family from Vienna; but the accomplishment was not esteemed, and the dialect was barbarous.  From the time of her mother’s death, Betty had been a strict and careful, though kind, ruler to her sisters; and the long walk was a greater holiday to Aurelia than to Eugene, releasing her from her book and work, whereas he would soon have been trundling his hoop, and haunting the steps of Palmer, who was gardener as well as valet, butler, and a good deal besides, and moreover drilled his young master.  Thus Eugene carried his head as erect as any Grenadier in the service, and was a thorough little gentleman in miniature; a perfect little beau, as his sisters loved to call the darling of their hearts and hopes.

Even Harriet could not be cross to him, though she made Aurelia carry the eggs, and indulged in sundry petulant whisks of the fan which she carried by way of parasol.  “Now, why does Betty do this?” she exclaimed, as soon as they were out of hearing.  “Is it to secure to herself the whole enjoyment of your beau?”

“You forget,” said Aurelia.  “You promised to fetch the eggs, when we met Mrs. Jewel jogging home from market on her old blind white horse last Saturday, because you said no eggs so shaken could ever be hatched.”

“You demure chit!” exclaimed Harriet; “would you make me believe that you have no regrets for so charming a young gentleman, my Lady’s son and our kinsman.”

“If he spoke to me I should not know how to answer.  And then you would blame my rudeness.  Besides,” she added, with childish sagacity, “he can be nothing but a fine London macaroni.  Only think of the cowslips!  A whole morning to make cowslip balls,” she added with a little frisk.  “I would not give one for all the macaronies in England, with their powder and their snuff-boxes.  Faugh!”