Page 42 of A Winter By the Sea
She waved to the man now. “Good day, Mr. Ward.”
He returned the wave and gestured for them to come closer. As they did, he opened the gate, and Emily and Mr. Thomson walked into the yard.
“I wanted to thank you for that story. The children asked to hear it again and seemed to enjoy it as much the second time.”
Emily smiled. “I am glad. I shall pass along their praise to the author.”
His eyes glinted with interest. “Not you, then?”
“No indeed. Mr. Gwilt, our bookkeeper at Sea View. He will be delighted to know the children are still enjoying it.”
She turned to her companion. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Thomson. Mr. Thomson, this is Mr. Ward, the schoolmaster.”
“A pleasure, sir.”
“Mr. Thomson, is it? Not the Duke of Kent’s private secretary?”
“The same, sir.”
“Ah. Mrs. Fulford was here a short while ago. She mentioned meeting you and presenting her society for His Royal Highness’s consideration. Most charitable woman. Am I correct in guessing you are on your way to view the poor house?”
“We are, yes,” Emily replied.
“Before you go, I would be remiss not to mention our school here.” He turned and swept an arm toward the simple whitewashed, two-story building. It possessed two front doors, one bearing a stone plaque markedGirls, the otherBoys.
“The school was established for the education of the infantpoor,” Mr. Ward explained, “according to Dr. Bell’s plan, and is supported by voluntary subscriptions. More than fifty children are now being educated here.”
“Goodness,” Emily breathed. “I had not realized there were so many.”
Mr. Thomson observed, “Impressive.”
For a moment longer they watched the game, and then Mr. Ward said, “I don’t suppose you could watch over this lot for a few minutes so I can nip home for a lesson book I left there? I live just next door.”
“With pleasure, sir.” Mr. Thomson glanced at Emily. “That is ... if it’s all right with you?”
Emily glanced at her watch pin. Viola was likely to be at the poor house for another half an hour, so they had about twenty minutes to spare. “Certainly. Take your time.”
Mr. Ward called to the boys. “Mr. Thomson and Miss Summers will oversee the play yard for a few minutes. Be on your best behavior!” And with that admonition, he hurried away.
The children paused in their game. A few grinned shyly at Emily, but they eyed their male visitor warily.
Emily offered a general nod, while Mr. Thomson addressed the boy holding the ball. “May I see that?”
The lad hesitated, then reluctantly complied, tossing the ball to the stranger.
Mr. Thomson eyed the rough ball, then dropped it. For one second, Emily feared he’d found it too dirty or in too poor a condition. Instead, he kicked it into the fray. Then he ran to join the others, whacking the ball into the makeshift goal to the cheers of his new teammates.
Then he began playing defense, attempting to block the older boys’ drives with skill but without aggression, and at the last moment, allowing a smaller boy to hit it through the goal.
The informal game continued for a quarter of an hour orso. Mr. Thomson encouraged and good-naturedly teased the youngsters as he blocked and kicked and feinted a miss to a chorus of groans and cheers.
Watching his antics, Emily could not help smiling.
“Join us?” he called to her.
“No thank you. I have never played this game.”
He expertly kicked the ball toward her, and the children turned to watch.
