them with you, for my sake, and for the trusteesâ sake, too. For it is the transformation you have wrought in your three remarkable pupils that best proves the worth of all you have learned here.
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After that there were more paragraphs about multiplication, followed by a brief review of cave geology (stalactites grow down, stalagmites grow up, Penelope was grateful to be reminded). The letter concluded with a long list of various types of ferns, complete with their distinguishing characteristics.
âThe upholstery fern? The Winnebago fern? I believe Miss Mortimer made those up; at least, I have never heard of them. And I fear she is being much too optimistic about Lady Constance.â Penelope looked fondly at the Incorrigibles: the boys with their sketching and mapmaking, and Cassiopeia napping peacefully with her book still open upon her chest, the pages fluttering to and fro with each childish snore, like tiny sails in a changeable wind. Who could fail to see the charms of these three? Alas, Lady Constance could, and did. She disliked the children with a passion and was often harsh with their governess. There was little chance that the spoiled young mistress of Ashton Place would become a benefactor to Swanburneâor Swansong, as she sometimes glibly called the school.
As for the children being proof of the value of Penelopeâs education . . . well, the Incorrigiblesâ best behavior was very good indeed, but their less-than-best could be positively hair-raising. âAs is true of most young people,â Penelope thought, feeling suddenly protective. But then she reminded herself that the Swanburne Academy was a place where all children were treated with understanding and respect. At Swanburne, even three children who had been raised by wolves would be appreciated for their unique qualities. Of this she felt quite sure.
âGrrrrr!â Cassiopeia awoke with renewed energy. Before long she had corralled her two brothers into an energetic game of tygers, complete with snarls and pretend biting. It was mostly pretend, anyway. Soon Alexanderâs teeth were sunk into Beowulfâs pant leg, and the two were having a devil of a time getting untangled.
Penelope called from her chair. âCareful, children! If the trousers get torn, you will have to mend them yourself, Alexander.â
âNot children. Tygers!â Cassiopeia corrected. At the moment she clearly had the advantage over her brothers, and she readied herself to pounce. One . . . two . . . threeâ
Penelope sighed. It was time to get back to work, but at least she had read her mail, or most of it, anyway. As she refolded Miss Mortimerâs letter, her eyes fell upon the last few lines.
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Oh! Happy birthday, dear Penny. I hope you did not think I had forgotten. I wish you many happy returns of the day, from all your loved ones, near and far.
Yours in hope,
Miss Charlotte Mortimer
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P.S. There is no need to reply by post. In fact, it is better if you do not; the mail delivery at Swanburne is less reliable than it once was, and I might not receive your answer. All will be explained when we speak in person, here, within these ivy-covered walls. Remember, twelve times eight is ninety-six!
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The birthday greeting was much appreciated, of course, but it was that last bit about the âivy-covered wallsâ that kept Penelope awake and thinking long past her usual bedtime. She knew very well that the Swanburne Academy was kept spit-spot; nary a shred of ivy was allowed to grow anywhere near the walls. âBad for the stonework,â the groundsmen would say. They always pulled it up by the roots.
Ivy-covered walls and an unreliable postal service? Was Miss Mortimer trying to tell her that something was amiss? If so, why not just come out and say so? Penelope lay in the dark with her eyes wide-open. âPerhaps Miss Mortimer was making a joke about the ivy, as she surely