The joiner’s shop was a warm and cheerful place, with the sharp smell of clean wood in the air and fresh sawdust underfoot. And Mr. Dowling was a generous man, who always saved the family’s soup bones for Rascal.
“I don’t want to make things hard for Aunt Jane,” Jeremy said, turning the stick in his fingers. “She does the best she can for both of us, so I try not to let her know how much I want to go to Kelsick.”
Rascal pushed his cold nose against Jeremy’s hand. “Kelsick?”
Jeremy sighed. “Kelsick is the grammar school at Ambleside. Miss Nash encouraged me to take the entrance examination and I passed with high marks. If I went to Kelsick, I could learn Latin and Greek and study drawing and painting. Some of the Kelsick boys have gone on to university—to Oxford and Cambridge, even.” He glanced up at a jay scolding down at them from the branch of a willow. “But there’s the tuition, and books and supplies. And Ambleside is ten miles away. I’d have to have a room, and there would be the cost of meals. It’s far more than Aunt Jane can manage.”
“I’m sorry, Jeremy,” Rascal said sadly.
Jeremy sighed again. “So either I must be apprenticed to Roger Dowling and be a joiner, or go to the apothecary in Hawkshead.” He gave Rascal a crooked smile. “Which would you choose?”
“Neither,” Rascal barked decisively. “I like to drop in at the joiner’s shop now and then, but I shouldn’t like to spend all day hammering and sawing. I shouldn’t like to count pills and pound powders, either. Both are respectable trades, I’m sure, but they’re not for me.”
“I thought so,” Jeremy said, reflecting that it was a comfort to discuss the situation with the little dog, who—even though he didn’t understand a word you said—could always be imagined to agree with you, whatever position you took. He sighed gloomily and fell silent for a moment, trying to picture himself astride the joiner’s bench all day long, a saw in his hand, wearing a canvas apron with pockets full of nails. Or dressed in a white coat, standing behind the apothecary’s counter from dawn until dusk, surrounded by jars of pills and bottles of potions.
Aunt Jane was right, of course. It was all very well to dream, but he ought to be glad that he had a choice, and that whatever he chose, he would be working indoors, out of the wind and weather, at a trade that earned people’s respect and enough to live on, eventually. She said the other boys would envy him, and he guessed she was right there, too. Harold Beechman, for instance, who was going to work alongside his father in the slate quarry, which was cold in winter and hot in summer and dangerous the year round. Harold would be glad of a chance to sit on a joiner’s bench and wield a smoothing plane.
But Jeremy wasn’t glad. He didn’t care a fig whether or not he was envied, and he didn’t want to grow up and go to work. He wanted to be a schoolboy, wanted to study and learn, wanted it so urgently that he could feel the desire like a hot, sweet taste in his mouth.
“It’s too bad that fairies can’t really grant wishes,” Jeremy muttered, thinking of what he had said to Caroline.
“Why, of course they can,” Rascal replied in surprise. He knew this was true, although he had never had occasion to put it to the test.
But Jeremy only sighed, stood, and looked down at the little dog. “Tomorrow, then.” He put his hands in his pockets, and turned away in the direction of the cottage he shared with his aunt.
Sadly, Rascal watched him go. Dogs, as you no doubt know from your own experience, don’t need to be told what humans are thinking and feeling; they have an intuitive sense of it, sorrowing with their favorite people, and taking pleasure in the things that make them happy.
But knowing how Jeremy felt and being able to do something about it were two entirely different things. Rascal was only a terrier, and rather small and nondescript at
“I don’t want to make things hard for Aunt Jane,” Jeremy said, turning the stick in his fingers. “She does the best she can for both of us, so I try not to let her know how much I want to go to Kelsick.”
Rascal pushed his cold nose against Jeremy’s hand. “Kelsick?”
Jeremy sighed. “Kelsick is the grammar school at Ambleside. Miss Nash encouraged me to take the entrance examination and I passed with high marks. If I went to Kelsick, I could learn Latin and Greek and study drawing and painting. Some of the Kelsick boys have gone on to university—to Oxford and Cambridge, even.” He glanced up at a jay scolding down at them from the branch of a willow. “But there’s the tuition, and books and supplies. And Ambleside is ten miles away. I’d have to have a room, and there would be the cost of meals. It’s far more than Aunt Jane can manage.”
“I’m sorry, Jeremy,” Rascal said sadly.
Jeremy sighed again. “So either I must be apprenticed to Roger Dowling and be a joiner, or go to the apothecary in Hawkshead.” He gave Rascal a crooked smile. “Which would you choose?”
“Neither,” Rascal barked decisively. “I like to drop in at the joiner’s shop now and then, but I shouldn’t like to spend all day hammering and sawing. I shouldn’t like to count pills and pound powders, either. Both are respectable trades, I’m sure, but they’re not for me.”
“I thought so,” Jeremy said, reflecting that it was a comfort to discuss the situation with the little dog, who—even though he didn’t understand a word you said—could always be imagined to agree with you, whatever position you took. He sighed gloomily and fell silent for a moment, trying to picture himself astride the joiner’s bench all day long, a saw in his hand, wearing a canvas apron with pockets full of nails. Or dressed in a white coat, standing behind the apothecary’s counter from dawn until dusk, surrounded by jars of pills and bottles of potions.
Aunt Jane was right, of course. It was all very well to dream, but he ought to be glad that he had a choice, and that whatever he chose, he would be working indoors, out of the wind and weather, at a trade that earned people’s respect and enough to live on, eventually. She said the other boys would envy him, and he guessed she was right there, too. Harold Beechman, for instance, who was going to work alongside his father in the slate quarry, which was cold in winter and hot in summer and dangerous the year round. Harold would be glad of a chance to sit on a joiner’s bench and wield a smoothing plane.
But Jeremy wasn’t glad. He didn’t care a fig whether or not he was envied, and he didn’t want to grow up and go to work. He wanted to be a schoolboy, wanted to study and learn, wanted it so urgently that he could feel the desire like a hot, sweet taste in his mouth.
“It’s too bad that fairies can’t really grant wishes,” Jeremy muttered, thinking of what he had said to Caroline.
“Why, of course they can,” Rascal replied in surprise. He knew this was true, although he had never had occasion to put it to the test.
But Jeremy only sighed, stood, and looked down at the little dog. “Tomorrow, then.” He put his hands in his pockets, and turned away in the direction of the cottage he shared with his aunt.
Sadly, Rascal watched him go. Dogs, as you no doubt know from your own experience, don’t need to be told what humans are thinking and feeling; they have an intuitive sense of it, sorrowing with their favorite people, and taking pleasure in the things that make them happy.
But knowing how Jeremy felt and being able to do something about it were two entirely different things. Rascal was only a terrier, and rather small and nondescript at
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