But the having to do them alone was not lively, and her teachers were very strict.

The worst of all was the writing and arithmetic master, a funny little old man who wore knee-breeches and took snuff, and called her aunt "Madame," bowing formally whenever he addressed her.
He screwed Griselda up into such an unnatural attitude to write her copies, that she really felt as if she would never come straight and loose again; and the arithmetic part of his instructions was even worse.
Oh! what sums in addition he gave her! Griselda had never been partial to sums, and her rather easy-going governess at home had not, to tell the truth, been partial to them either.

And Mr .-- I can't remember the little old gentleman's name.

Suppose we call him Mr.Kneebreeches--Mr.
Kneebreeches, when he found this out, conscientiously put her back to the very beginning.
It was dreadful, really.

He came twice a week, and the days he didn't come were as bad as those he did, for he left her a whole _row_ I was going to say, but you couldn't call Mr.Kneebreeches' addition sums "rows," they were far too fat and wide across to be so spoken of!--whole slatefuls of these terrible mountains of figures to climb wearily to the top of.