Mr. Gradgrind walked homeward from the school, in a state of
considerable satisfaction. It was his school, and he intended it to be a
model. He intended every child in it to be a model, just as the five
young Gradgrinds were all models.
No little Gradgrind had ever seen a face in the moon; no little
Gradgrind had ever learnt the silly jingle, "Twinkle, twinkle, little
star, How I wonder what you are"; each little Gradgrind having at five
years old dissected the Great Bear, and driven Charles's Wain like a
locomotive engine-driver. No little Gradgrind had ever associated a cow
in a field with that famous cow with a crumpled horn who tossed the dog,
who worried the cat, who killed the rat, who ate the malt, or with that
more famous cow who swallowed Tom Thumb. It had never heard of those
celebrities, and had only been introduced to a cow as a graminivorous,
ruminating quadruped with several stomachs.
To his matter-of-fact home, which was called Stone Lodge, Mr. Gradgrind
directed his steps, walking on in a hopeful and satisfied frame of mind.
He was an affectionate father, after his manner; but allowed no foolish
sentiment to interfere with the practical basis of his childrens'
education and bringing-up.
He had reached the outskirts of the town, when his ears were invaded by
the sound of the band attached to the horse-riding establishment, which
had there set up its rest in a wooden pavilion.
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