When she was on these visits, she received no regular instruction; and yet
all the knowledge, and most of the strength of her character, was derived
from these occasional hours. It is true her mother had given her daily
lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic; but both teacher and taught
felt these more as painful duties to be gone through, than understood them
as means to an end. The "There! child; now that's done with," of relief,
from Mrs. Browne, was heartily echoed in Maggie's breast, as the dull
routine was concluded.
Mrs. Buxton did not make a set labor of teaching; I suppose she felt that
much was learned from her superintendence, but she never thought of doing
or saying anything with a latent idea of its indirect effect upon the
little girls, her companions. She was simply herself; she even confessed
(where the confession was called for) to short-comings, to faults, and
never denied the force of temptations, either of those which beset little
children, or of those which occasionally assailed herself. Pure, simple,
and truthful to the heart's core, her life, in its uneventful hours and
days, spoke many homilies. Maggie, who was grave, imaginative, and
somewhat quaint, took pains in finding words to express the thoughts to
which her solitary life had given rise, secure of Mrs. Buxton's ready
understanding and sympathy.
"You are so like a cloud," said she to Mrs.
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