Jasper. Molesworth Mrs.

walk with Miss Earle from twelve to one – that, at least, was the rule. But how seldom was it obeyed! At a quarter to twelve they were sent upstairs to get ready, but in spite of Nurse’s and Fanny’s doing their best, it was rarely, if ever, that Leila and Chrissie made their appearance again till ten or twenty minutes past the proper time. And to-day was no exception. Nurse brought them downstairs herself, almost in tears.

      “Miss Earle,” she began, “I don’t know what to do. Will you – can you say anything to the young ladies? I did so want to tell their Mamma that they had been good while she was away, and it’s worse than ever. Miss Leila’s been reading all the time I was trying to dress her, and Miss Chrissie pulled off her hat three times and stamped on it.”

      “She put it all on one side. I looked like Falstaff in it,” said Christabel coolly.

      “Then why do you not put it on yourself?” said Miss Earle, as they went out.

      “Why should I, when they’re there to dress us?” was the reply. Miss Earle was silent. Chrissie repeated her question.

      “I don’t think there is any use in my answering you,” she said at last. “We look at these things in such a different way, according to different ideas.”

      Chrissie grew more amiable at this. She liked to be spoken to as if she were grown-up.

      “You may as well explain,” she said condescendingly. “Tell me how you mean.”

      “I mean that if I were rich enough to have half-a-dozen maids to dress me – or nurses to make a baby of me – I should be, and at your age should have been, ashamed to be as helpless as you and Leila are,” said Miss Earle.

      Leila, who was listening, wriggled a little. Chrissie tossed her head.

      “I’m not helpless. I can do anything I choose to do.”

      “Indeed,” said their governess drily, “I should not have thought it.”

      “But why should we?” said Leila, “We don’t need to.”

      “Why should you learn to be self-helpful and, to a certain extent, independent?” replied Miss Earle. “I should say, for two reasons. Because it would be good for your own characters, and also because nobody can tell what they may not have to do sooner or later, and surely it is best to be a little prepared for the chances and changes of life.”

      “I suppose you mean we might be sent to school some day,” said Chrissie; “but we shan’t – that’s certain.”

      “I meant nothing in particular. I was only answering your question. But I must add something. If you do let yourselves be treated like babies, at least you should be as nice as babies generally are – healthy babies, I mean – to those who treat them kindly.”

      Both the girls grew red at this, and Miss Earle was glad to see it.

      “I don’t fink I was a very nice baby,” said Jasper consideringly. “Mumsey says I cried lots. That’s why I must try to be good now.”

      “Poor Jasper!” said Miss Earle, “perhaps you were a very delicate baby.”

      “I fink p’raps I was,” he said with satisfaction. “I can’t remember very well, but I don’t fink I meaned to be naughty.”

      “You did roar,” said Leila; “I can remember it; or rather squealed. You weren’t big enough to roar.”

      “Everybody’s got to be naughty some time or other,” remarked Chrissie jauntily. “I know you think Lell and me horridly bad, Miss Earle, but p’raps we’ll turn out awfully good after all.”

      “I hope so,” said their governess, smiling. Then she added rather gravely, “I wish, dears, you could understand how much sorrow and regret you would save yourselves in the future if you would really try to be more thoughtful now,” and for a few minutes both little girls seemed impressed. Then, to change the subject, Christabel began again —

      “Mummy’s coming back on Monday, Miss Earle. Roland’s had a letter, and he thinks she’s very worried.”

      “I am sorry to hear it,” said Miss Earle. “Well, any way, let us try to have a cheerful report waiting for her, as far as we are concerned.”

      And the rest of the walk passed in a most pleasant way.

      But, alas! the children’s dinner, which the two girls had with their governess downstairs, was a cause of irritation, for, without being “greedy,” I am afraid I must allow that they were very “dainty,” which is almost as bad.

      “I hate cutlets done like this,” said Chrissie. “They’re so dry. I like them with that nice reddy sauce.”

      “Tomatoes,” said Leila. “So do I. And I don’t see why we should have plain potatoes, instead of mashed or browned, just because Mummy’s away.”

      She pushed her plate from her.

      “Leila,” said Miss Earle sternly, “go on with your dinner,” and as there was nothing else to eat, and Leila was hungry, she had to do so.

      Then came the next course.

      “Apple pudding! I hate cooked apples!” exclaimed Christabel. “Is there no cream, Lewis?”

      No – there was no cream.

      “What a hateful dinner,” both children complained, and as they saw Miss Earle about to speak, Chrissie interrupted her.

      “I know what you’re going to say – all that about poor children who have nothing to eat, and that we should be thankful to have anything. But I’ve heard it hundreds of times, and I don’t see why we should have nasty things, all the same. It doesn’t make it any better for the poor children.”

      “If your food were not nice, perhaps I would agree with you, but as things are, I cannot,” said Miss Earle.

      But eat her apple pudding Chrissie would not, and as she had really not had enough dinner for a strong, healthy child as she was, her temper was by no means at its best for afternoon lessons, and Miss Earle walked home, feeling sadly discouraged.

      “I must tell Mrs Fortescue that I’m making no way with them,” she thought. “Things have gone too far. I do not see how one is to get any lasting impression on them. And yet, I am so sorry to disappoint their mother! I wonder if she is really in trouble? What would those children do if actual misfortunes came over them?”

      A sort of presentiment, caused greatly, no doubt, by her sincere interest in her pupils, and anxiety about them, seemed to add to her depression.

      “I wish I had heard what Roland said,” she thought. “He is a good sort of boy. Perhaps he was only trying to make the girls more considerate for their mother just now.”

      Chapter Three

      Breaking Bad News

      The day I have described was a Thursday, and on Monday the children’s mother did return, as she had said. Nothing very particular had happened during the last day or two. Leila and Chrissie had gone on much as usual, sometimes good-tempered and pleasant – so long, that is to say, as there was nothing to ruffle or annoy them – but always thoughtless and heedless, quite unconcerned as to the comfort of those about them, thinking of nothing but their own wishes and amusement.

      Still, on the whole, both the schoolroom and the nursery had been fairly peaceful. Miss Earle had found less fault than she might have done; she even let some small misdemeanours pass as if unnoticed, but she was grave and rather silent.

      “I hope she’s beginning to find out that it’s no use nagging at us,” said Chrissie, though “nagging” had never been Miss Earle’s way; but as to this, Leila seemed doubtful.

      “I don’t know. I think there’s something the matter with her,” she replied. And so there was; the poor girl – for she was still a girl in spite of her learning and cleverness – was making up her mind that she was not the right person for her present pupils.

      “Perhaps an older governess