“I knew a little boy once,” she repeated, “who had no mother. Before he was as old as you are now, his mother died and went to heaven. Poor, dear little fellow! it was a sad day for him when his good mother died and left him to the care of strangers.”
George was all attention. Already the unpleasant lines of frowning disobedience were fading from his childish countenance, and a gentle, earnest look coming into his eyes.
“After this little boy’s mother died,” went on the governess, “there was nobody in the house to love him as she had done. His father was absent all day, and very often did not get home in the evening until poor little Willy was fast asleep in bed. As it would not do to leave Willy alone with the cook and chambermaid, his father got a governess, who was to have the care of him and teach him all his lessons. Now, it so happened that this governess was not kind and good as Willy’s mother had been, but was selfish and cruel. She gave him long, hard lessons, and if he did not get them—which he often could not—would punish him cruelly; sometimes by shutting him up in a dark closet, sometimes by making him go without eating, and sometimes by whipping him. And all the while she managed to make Willy’s father believe that she was kind and good to him.
“Poor little Willy! He grew pale and sad-looking, and no wonder. I was at the house one day——”
“Oh, Miss Harper! Did you know him?” said George, with a countenance full of interest.
“Yes, dear, I knew little Willy; and I knew his mother before she died. As I was just saying, I called one day at the house, a few months after his mother was taken away from him; and, as the servant opened the door for me, I heard the voice of Willy, and he was crying bitterly. All at once the voice was hushed to a low, smothered sound.
“‘What is the matter with Willy?’ I asked; and the servant answered that she supposed the governess was putting him into the dark closet again. In an instant there seemed to stand before me the child’s dead mother, and she pointed upward with her finger. I did not stop to think, but ran up-stairs into the nursery, where I found the governess sitting by the window with a book in her hand.
“‘Where’s Willy?’ I demanded. She started, and looked very much surprised and a little angry. But I was in earnest.
“‘Where’s Willy?’ I repeated my question more sternly. As she did not stir, I went quickly across the room and opened a closet door, which I found locked, with the key on the outside. There, lying on his face, was the dear child. I took him up in my arms and turned his face to the light. It was pale as marble. I thought he was dead.
“‘Bring me some water,’ I called, in a loud, quick voice. The frightened governess fled from the room, but soon returned with water. I threw it into the dear child’s face, and rubbed his hands and feet. In a few minutes, he began to breathe.