"So-ho-o!" The Major reached a long arm over the upper bench and brought up a large book that had lost the outer covers, the fly-leaves, and the title-page. "Where did this come from?"
"Father bought it at Mr. Harrison's sale, year before last. One back was off, and he said I might have it."
"And you've read the other back off since? How far have you got in it?"
"I've been through it twice and a half times."
"Twice and a half times, eh?"--with a whistle. "How old are you, may I ask?"
"You are fond of fractions, it seems. Flea, this is Mr. Tayloe, who is going to teach you something besides Shakespeare next week. You saw Mr. Grigsby this morning, Mr. Tayloe. This young lady who has read Shakespeare twice and a half times and is twelve and a half years old is his daughter."
The girl courtesied again; Mr. Tayloe nodded and pursed up his mouth. The Major resumed his kindly raillery, dipping at random into the dogeared book with the look and touch of one familiar with its contents.
"What have you been reading to-day, my fractional damsel?"
The girl was now quite at home with him and her subject. Her sallow face warmed and dimpled with enjoyment of the mock examination. She stood erect, her arms crossed upon the upper bench, her eyes dancing with amusement.
"Let me see. He was a nice, steady, well-behaved young fellow?"
"Very nice, sir, but he wasn't a bit steady. He was right wild before he got to be King. After that he was _splendid_."
"Humph! Didn't he steal the crown from the old gentleman's head before the breath was out of his body? I don't call that nice behavior."
"Because he thought his father was dead," cried the girl, forgetting jest and herself in defence of her hero. "If he had been dead, the crown would have belonged to his son. When Prince Henry found out that his father was only in a faint and was coming to, don't you remember how he knelt down and begged pardon, and said,
'There is your crown, And He that wears the crown eternally--'
It wouldn't be fair to lay _that_ up against him, sir."
The Major laid the book gently upon the bench, sighing as he did it. "You are right, my child," he said, in an altered tone. "An older book than Shakespeare says, 'Remember not the sins of my youth.' We won't be hard upon your dear Prince Hal. Your father tells me he is going to send three of you to school."