"I do hate sums!"he said,with a sigh,regarding the hideous smudges of thumbs and tears that scored the page."I shall never understand anything about them.""I'll help you,"said Mary,who was greatly excited at the thought of a governess."We'll do them together.""No we won't,"said Jeremy,who hated to be dependent.
"I'll learn it myself--if only the paper didn't get dirty so quickly.""Mother says,"remarked Helen,"that she's had a very hard life,and no one's ever been kind to her.'She wants affection,'Mother says.""I'll give her my napkin-ring that you gave me last Christmas,Mary,"said Jeremy."You don't mind,do you?It's all dirty now.I hope Hamlet won't bark at her."
Hamlet was worrying Mary's pincushion at the moment,holding it between his paws,his body stretched out in quivering excitement,his short,"snappy"tail,as Uncle Samuel called it,standing up straight in air.He stopped for an instant when he heard his name,and shook one ear.
"Mother says,"continued Helen,"that she lived with a brother who never gave her enough to eat."Jeremy opened his eyes.This seemed to him a horrible thing.
"She shall have my porridge,if she likes,"he said;"I don't like it very much.And I'll give her that chocolate that Mr.Jelly brand sent us.There's still some,although it's rather damp now,I expect."
"How silly you are!"said Helen scornfully."Of course,Mother will give her anything she wants.""It isn't silly,"said Jeremy."Perhaps she'll want more than she really wants.I often do.""Oh,you!"said Helen.
"And if for ever so long,"said Jeremy,"she hasn't had enough to eat,she'll want twice as big meals now as other people--to make up.""Mother says we've got to remember she's a lady,"said Helen.
"What's the difference,"asked Jeremy,"between a lady and not a lady?""Oh,you are!"said Helen."Why,Aunt Amy's a lady,and Rose isn't.""Rose is nicer,"said Jeremy.
Miss Jones had,I am sorry to say,lied to Mrs.Cole in one particular.She had told her that "she had had to do with children all her life,"the fact being that on several occasions some little cousins had come to stay with herself and her brother.On these occasions the little cousins had been so paralysed with terror that discipline had not been difficult.It was from these experiences that Miss Jones flattered herself that "she understood children."So audacious a self-confidence is doomed to invite the scornful punishment of the gods.
Miss Jones arrived upon a wet January afternoon,one of those Glebeshire days when the town sinks into a bath of mud and mist and all the pipes run water and the eaves drip and horses splash and only ducks are happy.Out of a blurred lamp-lit dusk stumbled Miss Jones's cab,and out of a blurred unlit cab stumbled Miss Jones.
As she stood in the hall trying to look warm and amiable,Mrs.
Cole's heart forsook her.On that earlier day of her visit Miss Jones had looked possible,sitting up in Mrs.Cole's drawing-room,smiling her brightest,because she so desperately needed the situation,and wearing her best dress.Now she was all in pieces;she had had to leave her little village early in the morning to catch the village bus;she had waited at wayside stations,as in Glebeshire only one can wait;the world had dripped upon her head and spattered upon her legs.She had neuralgia and a pain in her back;she had worn her older dress because,upon such a day,it would not do to travel in her best;and then,as a climax to everything,she had left her umbrella in the train.How she could do such a thing upon such a day!Her memory was not her strongest point,poor lady,and it was a good umbrella,and she could not afford to buy another.Perhaps they would find it for her,but it was very unlikely.
She had had it for a number of years.
She was a little woman,all skin and bone,with dried withered cheeks,a large brown nose and protruding ears.Her face had formed severe lines in self-defence against her brother,but her eyes were mild,and when she smiled her mouth was rather pleasantly pathetic.
"Oh,she'll never do,"thought Mrs.Cole,as she looked at her dripping in the hall.
"I can't think how I forgot it,said the poor lady,her mind fixed upon her umbrella."They said that perhaps they would find it for me,but there was a man in my carriage,I remember,who will most certainly have taken it--and it was a nice one with a silver handle.""Never mind,"said Mrs.Cole cheerfully,"I'm sure they'll find it.
You must come up to the nursery--or the schoolroom I suppose we must call it now;there's a lovely fire there,and we'll both have tea with the children to-day,so as to feel at home,all of us,as quickly as possible."What Miss Jones wanted was to lie down on a bed in a dark room and try and conquer her neuralgia.The thought of a lighted nursery filled her with dismay.However,first impressions are so important.
She pulled herself together.
The children had heard the arrival;they waited in a bunch by the fire,their eyes partly fixed on the door,partly on the strawberry jam that they were allowed to-day as a treat in the new governess's honour.Hamlet,his eyes and ears also upon the door,expecting perhaps a rat,perhaps Aunt Amy,sat in front of the group,its bodyguard.
"She's in the hall,"said Helen,"and now Mother's saying:'Do take off your things.You must be wet,'and now she's saying:'You'll like to see the children,I expect,'and now--"There they were,standing in the doorway,Mrs.Cole and Miss Jones.
There followed a dismal pause.The children had not expected anyone so old and so ugly as Miss Jones.Hamlet did not bark--nothing occurred.
