I am
sure of it, for I love it dearly still. But there was no joy
about it at Magnolia. History, as I found it with my
governess, was not in the least like the history I had planned
on my tray of sand, and pointed out with red and black headed
pins. There was life and stir in that, and progress. Now there
was nothing but a string of names and dates to say to Miss
Pinshon. And dates were hard to remember, and did not seem to
mean anything. But Miss Pinshon's favourite idea was
mathematics. It was not my favourite idea; so every day I
wandered through a wilderness of figures and signs which were
a weariness to my mind and furnished no food for it. Nothing
was pleasant to me in my schoolroom, excepting my writing
lessons. They were welcomed as a relief from other things.
When the studies for the day were done, the next thing was to
prepare for a walk. A walk with Miss Pinshon alone, for my
aunt never joined us. Indeed, this winter my aunt was not
infrequently away from Magnolia altogether; finding Baytown
more diverting.
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