She shook her head and murmured, “Almost. But we can’t go back.” Newell nodded solemnly.
When Patience tried to pull Norb into a hug, he yanked away. “You don’t understand. Herc could die out there.”
“Oh, my darling boy. We could all die out there if we go back. In any case, the road is gone and the school is a wreck.” The thought of the building that housed them wrung her heart, but she refused to give in to despair.
Norb must have assumed the tears in her voice were for his beloved puppies. He hung his head, dejection in his drooping shoulders and downturned head. She reached over and raised his chin, lowering her head toward his. “Hercules is the toughest and most adventurous of them all. He’ll be with George. They will manage.”
“Do you really think so, Miss Patience?” The boy asked.
She’d never lied to him and wouldn’t start now. “I believe it is possible, yes. We can’t know for certain.”Though we may have our doubts.
He gulped back tears, nodding unconvincingly.
“Come now; we all need to talk. Just because we’re far from the school, doesn’t mean we’ll neglect our lessons. What is the name of our school?”
“The Academy for the Formation of Young Gentlemen,” the boy murmured.
“And what do young gentlemen do?”
“Young gentlemen do their duty and never shirk, obey rules, study hard, and are loyal.” Norb recited the words without enthusiasm.
Drawing strength from the presence of the man beside her, she put an arm around Norb’s shoulders and tugged him to her. “Come with me.”
The boy did, and Newell fell into step next to her as well. “Who is George?” he asked.
“Our milk goat,” she replied, shooting a glance at him to check for laughter.
He bit his lips in an unsuccessful attempt to suppress any such rude reaction. “You named her after the king?” he choked out; dancing eyes transformed his rugged face into a visage approaching handsome—and deliciously irresistible.
Patience couldn’t suppress a grin of her own.
* * *
What sort of school has a milk-goat named after the King of England? The Academy for the Formation of Young Gentlemen.It sounded more like a lofty ambition than a description of an actual institute of learning.If these six half-drowned whelps are the sum of her students, it is a paltry institution indeed.Zach kept his thoughts to himself, curious to see what this fascinating woman would do.
Norb hunkered down next to his friends, and all eyes turned expectantly to Miss Abney—including Zach’s. He feared she would send him away. He hoped she didn’t, so he made himself quiet, far enough away to avoid disrupting, close enough to observe the proceedings.
She picked up the book he had been reading and set it on the bench. “We don’t usually start our day with our story, but today is not an ordinary day, is it gentlemen?”
It most certainly is not.
The boys answered politely. “Yes, Miss Patience.”
Gentlemen indeed. Not ordinary for me either. It promised to be much more interesting than he expected.
“How do we usually begin our day?” A rustle of hands raising. “Walter?” the sprite asked, every inch the teacher.
“With our prayers.”
“We did that. We said our prayers before breakfast,” Stump interjected.
“I’m delighted to hear it. Well done, all of you.”
“Peter made us,” Froggy said to general laughter.
“Excellent, Peter.” She beamed at the older boy. “We may be in strange circumstances, but that is no call to lower our standards or change our schedule.”
“We have no classroom, Miss Patience. Does that mean no classes?” Stump didn’t keep the hope from his voice.
