With the next night Hepburn came; and Kinraid did not.

After a few words to her mother, Philip produced the candles he had promised, and some books and a quill or two.
'What for hast thou brought candles ?' asked Bell, in a half-affronted tone.
Hepburn smiled.
'Sylvia thought it would take a deal of candlelight, and was for making it into a reason not to learn.

I should ha' used t' candles if I'd stayed at home, so I just brought them wi' me.' 'Then thou may'st just take them back again,' said Bell, shortly, blowing out that which he had lighted, and placing one of her own on the dresser instead.
Sylvia caught her mother's look of displeasure, and it made her docile for the evening, although she owed her cousin a grudge for her enforced good behaviour.
'Now, Sylvia, here's a copy-book wi' t' Tower o' London on it, and we'll fill it wi' as pretty writing as any in t' North Riding.' Sylvia sate quite still, unenlivened by this prospect.
'Here's a pen as 'll nearly write of itsel',' continued Philip, still trying to coax her out her sullenness of manner.
Then he arranged her in the right position.
'Don't lay your head down on your left arm, you'll ne'er see to write straight.' The attitude was changed, but not a word was spoken.

Philip began to grow angry at such determined dumbness.
'Are you tired ?' asked he, with a strange mixture of crossness and tenderness.
'Yes, very,' was her reply.
'But thou ought'st not to be tired,' said Bell, who had not yet got over the offence to her hospitality; who, moreover, liked her nephew, and had, to boot, a great respect for the learning she had never acquired.
'Mother!' said Sylvia, bursting out, 'what's the use on my writing "Abednego," "Abednego," "Abednego," all down a page?
If I could see t' use on 't, I'd ha' axed father to send me t' school; but I'm none wanting to have learning.' 'It's a fine thing, tho', is learning.

My mother and my grandmother had it: but th' family came down i' the world, and Philip's mother and me, we had none of it; but I ha' set my heart on thy having it, child.' 'My fingers is stiff,' pleaded Sylvia, holding up her little hand and shaking it.
'Let us take a turn at spelling, then,' said Philip.
'What's t' use on't ?' asked captious Sylvia.
'Why, it helps one i' reading an' writing.' 'And what does reading and writing do for one ?' Her mother gave her another of the severe looks that, quiet woman as she was, she could occasionally bestow upon the refractory, and Sylvia took her book and glanced down the column Philip pointed out to her; but, as she justly considered, one man might point out the task, but twenty could not make her learn it, if she did not choose; and she sat herself down on the edge of the dresser, and idly gazed into the fire.