“Young lady, when you were reading French to me the other evening, I was not impressed wholly by your pronunciation. No; there was a ring of decision in your tones, there was a look of character and firmness in your face, that told me you would not fail to make a first-class teacher,” said the old gentleman, with emphasis.
“Your very youthfulness may help you to win where the others have failed. And, as I told you, it is not altogether an instructress that we want, but a refined and genial companion, and an interpreter also, for none of the family are able to converse fluently in foreign languages,” said Mr. Coolidge.
Sixteen and fourteen!
They were trying ages—just the time when girls loved fun and frolic better than anything else in the world.
Was she competent to take charge of them and direct their studies?
She longed to accept the position, she longed to go abroad and visit those old countries so fraught with interest, poetry, and romance, and where her aunt had lived and suffered so much. But the responsibility! Would it be right for her to assume it? Would she be able to influence these young girls aright?
“Mr. Coolidge,” she said, when she had thought of all these things, “I will tell you frankly that I would like this position which you are so kind to offer me, more than I can express, but I am only eighteen years of age myself, and I do not really feel like deciding whether I am competent to direct the education of your daughters or not. The other duties, I think, I could fulfill satisfactorily.”
“Have you ever completed a regular course of study?” asked Mr. Alcott.
“Yes, sir; a thorough course. I graduated from the high school before I was sixteen, and I have since taken a two years’ classical course,” replied Brownie.
“You’ll do, then,” said the old man, with a contented nod of his head.