NOT MISSED.
Jane Macalister was the governess. She was old—at least the Lorrimers considered her old—she wore spectacles, and her hair was slightly tinged with grey. She had a queer mixture of qualities. She was affectionate and narrow; she was devoted to her pupils, and thought she could best show her devotion by an unceasing round of discipline. Fortunately, both for her and the little Lorrimers, this discipline never extended beyond the hours devoted to lessons. It never showed its stern visage in play hours, nor at meals, nor at night, nor on half holidays, nor on Sundays. During all these times, Jane was the intelligent and much belaboured companion. She was at everyone's beck and call. She was to be found here, there, and everywhere—darning the rent in Molly's frock, or helping Nora with her drawing, or trying to find a story-book for Nell which she had not already read at least six times, or healing the small squabbles with which Boris and Kitty helped to beguile the weary hours. Mrs. Lorrimer consulted her with regard to the cook and the servants generally. The Squire would shout to her to spare him a quarter of an hour in the study to see if he had totted up his accounts right. In short, Jane Macalister was as much part and parcel of the Lorrimer household as if she were really one of themselves. She was by no means educated up to the standard of the latter half of the nineteenth century, but what she did know, she knew thoroughly. She was methodical and helpful. The kind of person whom Mrs. Lorrimer was fond of quoting as invaluable. The children, one and all, loved her as a matter of course, but, in school hours, their love was certainly mingled with awe. In school hours, Jane allowed no relaxing of the iron rod.
Kitty and Boris, having just heard the dismal sound of the schoolroom bell, started from their fascinating occupation of feeding the white rats and ran as fast as their small feet could carry them in the direction of the house. They went in by a side entrance, and with panting breath and hot little steps began to mount the spiral staircase which led to the schoolroom in the tower. They were late already, and they knew that they could not possibly escape bad marks for unpunctuality. They pushed open the green baize door which admitted them to the sanctum of learning and came in. All the other children whom Miss Macalister taught were already in the room. Kitty and Boris were the sole delinquents—the only ones in disgrace; even Elinor was present. Their faces fell when they saw her. They had built great hopes on having at least Elinor's company in their disgrace. The swift thought had darted through both their minds that she would be safe to be extra naughty that morning, and in consequence would divert some of the storm of Jane Macalister's wrath from their devoted heads; but no, there she sat in her accustomed place, her hymn book open on her knee, marks of tears on her cheeks, it is true, but in all other respects she looked a provokingly model Elinor.
It was too bad; Kitty made a face at her across the schoolroom, and even Boris gave her a reproachful glance.
Jane Macalister fixed two awful spectacled eyes upon the culprits, and, scarlet blushes tingling in their cheeks, they took possession of their vacant chairs.
The children all sang their usual hymn, although Elinor's voice was a little husky and Boris held his book upside down.
"All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all."
"I wonder if He really made that dreadful horsey man," thought Nell, as she looked out of the window.
Boris smothered a sigh as he reflected again over the problem which had often before puzzled his small head—Why God, when he made everything so beautiful, had forgotten to give Jane Macalister a beautiful temper in school hours?
The singing was followed by the Bible reading, and then lessons began. Molly and Nora acquitted themselves admirably, as was their wont—Nell's dark grey eyes grew full of interest as she read the fascinating story of the "Field of the Cloth of Gold" in her history book—Kitty worked at her sums with fierce persistence and tried to fancy herself at boarding-school, going up rapidly to the top of her class, while Boris made more mistakes than ever over his dictation, and inked his fingers unmercifully.