“Well, my dear,” returned Caddy, “I am indeed, for to tell you a grand secret, I am qualifying myself to give lessons. Prince’s health is not strong, and I want to be able to assist him. What with schools, and classes here, and private pupils, and the apprentices, he really has too much to do, poor fellow!”
The notion of the apprentices was still so odd to me that I asked Caddy if there were many of them.
“Four,” said Caddy. “One indoor, and three out. They are very good children; only when they get together they will play—children-like—instead of attending to their work. So the little boy you saw just now waltzes by himself in the empty kitchen, and we distribute the others over the house as well as we can.”
“That is only for their steps, of course?” said I.
“Only for their steps,” said Caddy. “In that way they practise, so many hours at a time, whatever steps they happen to be upon. They dance in the academy, and at this time of year we do figures at five every morning.”
“Why, what a laborious life!” I exclaimed.
“I assure you, my dear,” returned Caddy, smiling, “when the outdoor apprentices ring us up in the morning (the bell rings into our room, not to disturb old Mr. Turveydrop), and when I put up the window and see them standing on the doorstep with their little pumps under their arms, I am actually reminded of the Sweeps.”
All this presented the art to me in a singular light, to be sure. Caddy enjoyed the effect of her communication and cheerfully recounted the particulars of her own studies.
“You see, my dear, to save expense I ought to know something of the piano, and I ought to know something of the kit too, and consequently I