"I like shootin' and playin' Red Injuns."
"Yes, yes," said Uncle George impatiently, "but those aren't
_studies_, William. You must aim at being _gentle_."
"It's not much good bein' _gentle_ when you're playin' Red Injuns,"
said William stoutly. "A _gentle_ Red Injun wun't get much done."
"Ah, but why play Red Indians?" said Uncle George. "A nasty rough
game. No, we'll talk about History. You must mould your character upon
that of the great heroes, William. You must be a Clive, a Napoleon, a
Wolfe."
"I've often been a wolf," said William. "That game's nearly as good as
Red Injuns. An' Bears is a good game too. We might have Bears here,"
he went on brightening. "Jus' you an' me. Would you sooner be bear or
hunter? I'd sooner be hunter," he hinted gently.
"You misunderstand," said Uncle George. "I mean Wolfe the man, Wolfe
the hero."
William, who had little patience with heroes who came within the
school curriculum, relapsed into gloom.
"What lessons do we learn from such names, my boy?" went on Uncle
George.
William was on the floor behind Uncle George's chair endeavouring to
turn a somersault in a very restricted space.
"History lessons an' dates an' things," he said shortly. "An' the
things they 'spect you to remember----!" he added with disgust.
"No, no," said Uncle George, but the fire was hot and his chair was
comfortable and his educational zeal was dying away, "to endure the
buffets of fate with equanimity, to smile at misfortune, to endure
whatever comes, and so on----"
He stopped suddenly.
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