“I should like to try for a situation, notwithstanding my deficiencies. I could do something or other.”
“There, that’s enough: must I tell you again not to talk nonsense?” retorted Mrs. Lewis. “And now you must come upstairs and see to my things, and to Julia’s and Fanny’s. We are going to Worcester by the half-past eleven train—and you may expect us home to tea when you see us.”
They went off. As soon as their backs were turned, Anne came running into our house, finding me and Mrs. Todhetley at the piano. It was pleasant Easter weather, though March was not out: the Squire and Tod had gone to Dyke Manor on some business, and would not be home till late. Anne told all her doubts and difficulties to the mater, and asked her advice, as to whether there would be anything wrong in her seeking for a situation.
“No, my dear,” said the mother, “it would be right, instead of wrong. If——”
“If people treated me as they treat you, Anne, I wouldn’t stay with them a day,” said I, hotly. “I don’t like toads.”
“Oh, Johnny!” cried Mrs. Todhetley. “Never call names, dear. No obligation whatever, Anne, lies on you to remain in that home; and I think you would do well to leave it. You shall stay and dine with me and Johnny at one o’clock, Anne; and we will talk it over.”
“I wish I could stay,” said poor Anne; “I hardly knew how to spare these few minutes to run here. Mrs. Lewis has left me a gown to unpick and turn, and I must hasten to begin it.”
“So would I begin it!” I cried, going out with her as far as the gate. “And I should like to know who is a toad, if she’s not.”
“Don’t you think I might be a nursery governess, Johnny?” she asked me, turning round after going through the gate. “I might teach French, and English, and German: and I am very fond of little children. The difficulty will be to get an introduction. I have thought of one person who might give it me—if I could only dare to ask him.”
“Who’s that?”