His Excellency's English Governess

by Sydney C. Grier

“You are very good, my dear child, in wishing to be of use, but what can fifteen pounds do towards educating four boys, who have not brains enough among them all to get a ten-pound scholarship, nor steadiness and sense of honour enough to go to and from the Grammar-School like gentlemen? What with their school-fees, and the bills I have to pay for the damage they do, it needs a millionaire to look after them.”

And Mr Anstruther rose abruptly from his seat, said grace, and departed to his study. It was a constant disappointment to him that only his eldest daughter had inherited his own scholarly tastes, and that his younger children, although dowered with their mother’s splendid bodily health, had inherited also her distaste for steady mental work. Sometimes the disparity made him a little unjust to Cecil, as if his disappointment were her fault, and the sense of this struck her to-day so keenly that, worn-out and discouraged, she pushed back her chair from the table and burst into tears. The children stood around in impotent alarm; then, their consciences no doubt pricking them, one after another crept softly from the room. For a little while Cecil sobbed hopelessly; then a sudden resolution came to her, and she started up. Miss Arbuthnot’s words had returned to her memory, and she saw that if she could not be useful with the children at home, she might at any rate help to provide the money necessary to give them the education they so greatly needed. With ferocious haste she twisted her soft auburn hair into a rough knot, secured it by sticking in the pins in handfuls, and dashed away the tears from her brown eyes, now blurred and piteous with crying. Without giving herself time to repent, she sat down at the writing-table in the window, and began to write. The chair and table shook with her sobs as she did so, but she scrambled through her letter as fast as she could, sealed and stamped it, and then, snatching up her hat, rushed across the road to the pillar-box with the important missive, determined not to trust any of the boys.

All this afternoon Cecil, to use Biblical language, “went softly in the bitterness of her soul,” for the step she had just taken marked the downfall of many hopes. Throughout her school career, which had cost her father very little, owing to the number of prizes and scholarships she had won, her aim had been to make use of her knowledge in instructing her half-brothers and sisters. Recollections of past failure in holiday-times had not deterred her from setting to work again with enthusiasm, but after rather less than a month’s trial she was compelled to admit that the result was unsatisfactory. She knew that under ordinary circumstances she was an interesting teacher and a good disciplinarian,—experience in teaching classes at the South Central School had assured her of this,—and she had not reckoned on the opposing influence which was to render all her efforts nugatory. The children were the only subject on which Mrs Anstruther and Cecil were gravely divided in opinion, but on this one point they differed exceedingly. Mrs Anstruther insisted that Cecil was trying to break the children’s spirits, and she made it her business to rescue them from this untoward fate on every possible occasion. Derided by her pupils and unsupported by their mother, her rules set aside, and her punishments continually remitted, it is little wonder that Cecil decided to give up the contest in despair. There seemed to be something in her that aroused all the wickedness of which the children were capable; and only this morning a final touch had been put to her misery by a remark of her father’s, to the effect that he wished Cecil would leave her brothers and sisters alone, for they were always far worse with her than with any one else. That Mr Anstruther should say this was the most unkindest cut of all, and Cecil felt that her last support in the home was gone.

The next morning, just as breakfast was over at St Barnabas’ Vicarage, great excitement was caused among the children by the sight of a telegraph-boy coming up to the house. Six of them met him at the door, and conveyed the missive in triumph to Cecil, to whom it was addressed, offering meanwhile various suggestions as to the nature of the contents. It was with some difficulty that she succeeded in rescuing the envelope untorn, and in acquainting herself with the message.

“M. Arbuthnot to C. Anstruther.

“Come to me at once for two or three days. Have heard of something for you.”

Cecil read the words in astonishment, with all the children dancing and yelling round her like wild Indians. They were still in the hall, and Cecil was too much engrossed by the telegram to try to calm them, until the study door opened, and her father’s tired face looked out.

“Really, Cecil,” he began, “I think, when you know I am preparing my sermon, you might——” But his voice was drowned by the children.

“Daddy, Cissie’s got a telegram. We wouldn’t go to school until she would tell us what it was. She’s going to London, isn’t she?”

“What does all this mean, Cecil?” asked Mr Anstruther, wearily, and his daughter put the telegram into his hand.