He had begun to go into things thoroughly, he said, and had got very good friends to help him, and he was beginning to think that, at worst, it would not turn out too awfully bad. And for this mamma felt very grateful, though she had so bravely prepared for whatever might be to come.
So for a few weeks we went on very contentedly, more than that, indeed—very brightly too. It was, for me, too delightful not to have much governessing to do, for Taisy at once took the most of this on herself. And I assure you, she did keep Miss Esmé in order.
In return for this she joined me in some of my reading with mamma, and she always has said that she learnt more in this way about some lessons than she had ever done before. Mamma is very clever.
We went on, as I said, pretty steadily like this for some weeks till another rather big thing happened—almost as big as the 'descent of the balloon,' which we always called Theresa's arrival.
But before telling about this new event, I must relate a curious thing that happened one day.
It was one afternoon—just after tea—we were still sitting out of doors where we had had tea—mamma in her 'boudoir,' for the days were getting quite long, and we were specially glad to be in the open air as much as possible, for we had had a good deal of rain for nearly a week—mamma was reading, and I think I was too—when Hoskins came out of the house looking rather 'funny'—queer, I mean, as if not quite sure if she were vexed or not.
'If you please, ma'am,' she said, 'there's a gypsy at the back door, and I can't get her to go till she's seen you.'
'A gypsy,' mamma exclaimed in great surprise; 'how has she managed to get inside the grounds? And I did not know there were any in the neighbourhood just now. It is so seldom they come this way too. Taisy,' she went on, looking round, 'you might speak to her for me and ask what she wants.'
But Taisy was not there.
'Miss Theresa has gone into the woods, I think,' said Hoskins; 'I heard her calling to Miss Esmé just after tea-time.'