The Clever Woman of the Family. Yonge Charlotte Mary

what has he to do with your movements?”

      “Sir Stephen wished—” murmured Fanny.

      “The Major is military secretary, and always settles our head-quarters, and no one interferes with him,” shouted Conrade.

      Rachel, suspicious and jealous of her rival, was obliged to let Fanny pass on to the next item, where her eager acceptance of all that was prescribed to her was evidently meant as compensation for her refractoriness about the house.

      Grace had meanwhile applied herself to keeping off the boys, and was making some progress in their good graces, and in distinguishing between their sallow faces, dark eyes, and crisp, black heads. Conrade was individualized, not only by superior height, but by soldierly bearing, bright pride glancing in his eyes, his quick gestures, bold, decided words, and imperious tone towards all, save his mother—and whatever he was doing, his keen, black eye was always turning in search of her, he was ever ready to spring to her side to wait on her, to maintain her cause in rough championship, or to claim her attention to himself. Francis was thick-set, round-shouldered, bullet-headed and dull-eyed, in comparison, not aggressive, but holding his own, and not very approachable; Leoline, thin, white-cheeked, large-eyed and fretful-lipped, was ready to whine at Conrade’s tyranny and Francis’s appropriations, but was grateful for Grace’s protection, and more easy of access than his elders; and Hubert was a handsome, placid child, the good boy, as well as the beauty of the family. The pair in the nursery hardly came on the stage, and the two elders would be quite sufficient for Mrs. Curtis, with whom the afternoon was to be spent.

      The mother, evidently, considered it a very long absence, but she was anxious to see both her aunt and her own home, and set out, leaning on Rachel’s arm, and smiling pleased though sad recognition of the esplanade, the pebbly beach, bathing machines and fishing boats, and pointing them out to her sons, who, on their side, would only talk of the much greater extent of Melbourne.

      Within the gates of the Homestead, there was a steep, sharp bit of road, cut out in the red sandstone rock, and after a few paces she paused to rest with a sigh that brought Conrade to her side, when she put her arm round his neck, and leant on his shoulder; but even her two supporters could not prevent her from looking pale and exhausted.

      “Never mind,” she said, “this salt wind is delightful. How like old times it is!” and she stood gazing across the little steep lawn at the grey sea, the line of houses following the curve of the bay, and straggling up the valley in the rear, and the purple headlands projecting point beyond point, showing them to her boys, and telling their names.

      “It is all ugly and cold,” said Francis, with an ungracious shiver. “I shall go home to Melbourne when I’m a man.”

      “And you will come, mamma?” added Conrade.

      He had no answer, for Fanny was in her aunt’s arms; and, like mother and daughter, they clung to each other—more able to sympathize, more truly one together, than the young widow could be with either of the girls.

      As soon as Fanny had rested and enjoyed the home atmosphere downstairs, she begged to visit the dear old rooms, and carried Conrade through a course of recognitions through the scarcely altered apartments. Only one had been much changed, namely, the schoolroom, which had been stripped of the kindly old shabby furniture that Fanny tenderly recollected, and was decidedly bare; but a mahogany box stood on a stand on one side; there was a great accession of books, and writing implements occupied the plain deal table in the centre.

      “What have you done to the dear old room—do you not use it still?” asked Fanny.

      “Yes, I work here,” said Rachel.

      Vainly did Lady Temple look for that which women call work.

      “I have hitherto ground on at after-education and self-improvement,” said Rachel; “now I trust to make my preparation available for others. I will undertake any of your boys if you wish it.”

      “Thank you; but what is that box?”—in obedience to a curious push and pull from Conrade.

      “It is her dispensary,” said Grace.

      “Yes,” said Rachel, “you are weak and nervous, and I have just the thing for you.”

      “Is it homoeopathy?”

      “Yes, here is my book. I have done great things in my district, and should do more but for prejudice. There, this globule is the very thing for your case; I made it out last night in my book. That is right, and I wanted to ask you some questions about little Wilfred.”

      Fanny had obediently swallowed her own globule, but little Wilfred was a different matter, and she retreated from the large eyes and open book, saying that he was better, and that Mr. Frampton should look at him; but Rachel was not to be eluded, and was in full career of elucidation to the meanest capacity, when a sharp skirmish between the boys ended the conversation, and it appeared that Conrade had caught Francis just commencing an onslaught on the globules, taking them for English sweetmeats of a minute description.

      The afternoon passed with the strange heaviness well known to those who find it hard to resume broken threads after long parting. There was much affection, but not full certainty what to talk about, and the presence of the boys would have hindered confidence, even had they not incessantly occupied their mother. Conrade, indeed, betook himself to a book, but Francis was only kept out of mischief by his constantly turning over pictures with him; however, at dark, Coombe came to convey them home, and the ladies of the Homestead experienced a sense of relief. Rachel immediately began to talk of an excellent preparatory school.

      “I was thinking of asking you,” said Fanny, “if there is any one here who would come as a daily governess.”

      “Oh!” cried Rachel, “these two would be much better at school, and I would form the little ones, who are still manageable.”

      “Conrade is not eight years old yet,” said his mother in an imploring tone, “and the Major said I need not part with him till he has grown a little more used to English ways.”

      “He can read, I see,” said Grace, “and he told me he had done some Latin with the Major.”

      “Yes, he has picked up a vast deal of information, and on the voyage the Major used to teach him out of a little pocket Virgil. The Major said it would not be of much use at school, as there was no dictionary; but that the discipline and occupation would be useful, and so they were. Conrade, will do anything for the Major, and indeed so will they all.”

      Three Majors in one speech, thought Rachel; and by way of counteraction she enunciated, “I could undertake the next pair of boys easily, but these two are evidently wanting school discipline.”

      Lady Temple feathered up like a mother dove over her nest.

      “You do not know Conrade. He is so trustworthy and affectionate, dear boy, and they are both always good with me. The Major said it often hurts boys to send them too young.”

      “They are very young, poor little fellows,” said Mrs. Curtis.

      “And if they are forward in some things they are backward in others,” said Fanny. “What Major Keith recommended was a governess, who would know what is generally expected of little boys.”

      “I don’t like half measures,” muttered Rachel. “I do not approve of encouraging young women to crowd the overstocked profession of governesses.”

      Fanny opened her brown eyes, and awaited the words of wisdom.

      “Is it not a flagrant abuse,” continued Rachel, “that whether she have a vocation or not, every woman of a certain rank, who wishes to gain her own livelihood, must needs become a governess? A nursery maid must have a vocation, but an educated or half-educated woman has no choice; and educator she must become, to her own detriment, and that of her victims.”

      “I always did think governesses often much to be pitied,” said Fanny, finding something was expected of her.

      “What’s the use of pity if one runs on in the old groove? We must prevent the market from being drugged, by diverting the supply into new lines.”

      “Are