What an entirely different set of beings were those Stokesley
children in lesson-time and out of it! Talk of the change of an old
thorn in winter to a May-bush in spring! that was nothing to it!
Poor, listless, stolid, deplorable logs, with bowed backs and crossed
ankles, pipy voices and heavy eyes! Who would believe that these
were the merry, capering, noisy creatures, full of fun and riot,
clattering and screeching, and dancing about with ecstasy at Sam's
information that there was a bonfire by the potato-house!
"A bonfire!" said the London governess, thinking of illuminations;
"what can that be for?"
"Oh, it is not FOR anything," said Susan; "it is Purday burning
weeds. Don't you smell them? How nice they are! I was afraid it
was only Farmer Smith burning couch."
All the noses were elevated to scent from afar a certain smoky odour,
usually to be detected in July breezes, and which reminded Miss
Fosbrook of a brick-field.
"Potatoes! Potatoes! We'll roast some potatoes, and have them for
tea!" bellowed all the voices; so that Miss Fosbrook could hardly
find a space for very unwillingly saying,
"But, my dears, I don't know whether I ought to let you play with
fire.
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