FAILURE
MISS GREGSON never forgot the week that followed, neither indeed did a
single member of the household.
Jane the housemaid gave warning. It was too much for her nerves, she
declared.
Finding that they were not the docile little children that she had
expected, Sheila soon gave up the idea of bathing them and putting
them to bed herself, and had relinquished that duty to Jane; and the
housemaid could scarcely stand the pinches and kicks that the children
gave her, or the water they threw at her as she bathed them. They were
utterly uncontrollable. As for the pretty paper in the West bedroom,
the children had not been there two days before Jane discovered pencil
marks on the wall by the window, and the names of the little visitors
scratched on the white paint of the shutters.
James, the gardener, lost all patience with the boys; not only were
the heads of his dahlias violently knocked off, but the green house
was invaded by the rebels, and in trying to reach the grapes a window
was broken and branches torn down. He confided to Jane that, if Miss
Dennison was going to fill her house with such little vagabonds, he
would follow her example and leave.
As for the cook! She "felt fit to cry to see the waste," she informed
her fellow servants. The children wouldn't eat the nice hot broth she
made for them, or the rice puddings which were good and wholesome, and
the plates came down again and again only just touched. If there was
jam or pastry they ate it fast enough. She called it "right wicked" to
indulge them like this. They'd go home worse than they came; "but there
now," she added, "Miss Dennison don't understand children and she means
well by them."
Miss Gregson was still more unhappy at the failure of the girl's plan;
for she knew it would not be long before she would lose patience and
interest in the work, and of what would happen then, her chaperon had
no conception.
Sheila was getting to look worried and bored. There had been one or two
days when the children had been good, but these were generally followed
by times of rebellion and misconduct, during which the girl plainly
lost heart, and gradually she left the care of them to others.
One afternoon she suddenly informed Miss Gregson that she had quite
forgotten an engagement she had made with a friend in a neighbouring
village. She was so sorry but she could not put it off.
"You won't mind, will you, Angel clear, taking care of the children for
an hour or two," she said. "One is in duty bound to keep appointments
if possible, and Clara would be bitterly disappointed if I did not go."
"I will do my best," said Miss Gregson, "but you must forgive any
catastrophe which may happen in your absence."
"You can manage them better than I can," said Sheila, "I'm not a bit
afraid." So after luncheon she ordered the cart, and was only too
thankful to get out of sight and sound of the children for a time.
Miss Gregson, left to her own resources, determined to strike out a new
line for herself. She had a large table placed in the empty room at
the top of the house, collected pencils and paper, and after letting
the children have a good run in the garden, during which time they did
as much mischief as they could manage, scattering mould on the nicely
kept paths, and pulling up flowers which they thought to be weeds, Miss
Gregson seated them round the table and gave them a drawing lesson.
For a time they were interested in what they were doing, though their
poor teacher's head ached with the noise which she was quite powerless
to stop. But before very long Tommy snatched Dick's pencil from him
and received a great thump on his back in return. A free fight ensued.
Dick, the eldest of the three boys, punched the delinquent's head,
when he immediately set up a howl, the rest of the children crying in
chorus. Jemmy was pushed down on to the floor, and it was all that Miss
Gregson could do to extricate him from the fighting boys.
But what alarmed her more than anything else were the bad words that
flew from one little mouth to another. She rang the bell violently; and
was thankful to see the panting Jane standing at the door. Jane saw in
a moment how matters stood. The tumblers of water had been knocked off
the table and broken to pieces. Two of the boys were rolling on the
floor kicking and hitting one another, while the three little girls
stood looking on, sobbing at the sight of the broken glasses and torn
drawings. Miss Gregson had Jemmy on her lap, drying his tears with her
pocket handkerchief.
Jane managed to separate the fighting, struggling boys, administering
at the same time sundry slaps on the miscreants.
"Hadn't they better go out into the garden, M'am?" she asked.
"Yes I think so," was the answer.
But Miss Gregson knew that unless someone was with them to mount guard
further mischief would be done. Jane, who was a good-natured girl,
volunteered to take them down and to see after them, and Angel, quite
unstrung, was only too thankful. She went to her room and lay down on
the sofa, saying she would not be disturbed till Miss Dennison returned
for tea.
A soft knock awakened her. Sheila opened the door. She looked at the
prostrate figure on the sofa with remorse, saying—
"Jane tells me you are quite overcome with the naughtiness of the
children. I ought never to have left you. And certainly I should not
have been so long away. I am so sorry."
Miss Gregson smiled. Sheila looked so truly penitent that though her
chaperon agreed with her remarks she had not the heart to tell her so.
"I have had a nice rest," she said, "but the children surpassed
themselves. I wonder, my dear, if you could not get someone in from the
village to look after them for the last week."
The girl planted herself on the end of the sofa and surveyed her
companion with grave eyes.
"I wonder on the other hand," she said, "if it would be perfectly
horrible of me to send them away at once. I don't feel as if I can
endure them another day."
"My dear," exclaimed Miss Gregson. "Just think what a terrible
disappointment it would be to them all."
"But just think on the other hand what a terrible time we shall have
with them! If only they were nicer children! They are little horrors."
"What can you expect from their bringing up? We should have thought of
this before. How can children from homes where they probably only hear
bad words and see drunken brawls, behave decently? And I must own I had
quite a shock this afternoon. I have never heard such language! It was
frightful."
"Oh, I know. They swear like grown up people. It's horrid."
"Poor little things! I feel we must do something to help them before
they go away. I long to have a talk with them, but it takes all one's
strength to keep them tolerably occupied. There seems no time to talk
about better things. It must be done before they leave."
"Then it must be done to-night," said Sheila, "for I feel to be in a
regular nightmare, and really I can hardly bear the sight of them. Do
you suppose there are many such wicked children in the world? I have
been appalled at the things they say."
"We can't let them go back without telling them of the Good Shepherd,"
said Miss Gregson softly.
"You are an angel," said Sheila, holding out her hand affectionately
to her old governess. "You are only thinking of the children, and I am
only thinking of myself. But you can understand how very humiliating it
is to fail in this way. I hate to think of Peter knowing about it."
Miss Gregson took the proffered hand in her own.
"Tell me," said Sheila, "why it is I so often fail? This is the worst
failure I have had. Why don't things go right?"
"I think, my dear, you did not count the cost before you invited these
children, and did not make proper provision for them."
"Count the cost!"
"I mean you acted on the impulse of the moment and never thought what
it would involve. The impulse was good, but it does not do to act on
impulse alone. You wanted to do a real kindness, but I doubt as a
matter of fact if it has proved anything of the sort. The children
will go back the worse rather than the better, as far as I can see,
for their visit. You see you consulted no one; and you are quite
ignorant of the poor of London, and have no idea how much supervision
these children really need if any good is to be done. I hope I am not
discouraging you?"
"I feel fearfully discouraged, all the more as every word you say is
true. I am afraid I am a creature of impulse. I wonder if I shall ever
do anything that is worth doing. I know too that I have worn everyone
out. I suppose you know Jane, nice Jane, has given warning."
"Yes, I know."
"And as for you, you are quite prostrate with it all, poor dear. I've
been simply horrid not to take you into account. I don't seem to give
pleasure to anyone."
"You can't say that, so long as I am with you," said Miss Gregson
patting the girl's hand.
"I'm afraid," said Sheila, "that you don't think I really ought to send
those children away."
"No, I don't. But it is no use keeping them if we do not make some
effort to make them better than when they came. I should advise you to
get in some nice woman who is used to children, to take the charge of
them while they are here. That will set us free to do what we can to
influence them aright."
"Oh, you must not expect me to do that," said Sheila, "it is quite
beyond me. Besides I want doing good to myself. But you, dear Angel,
will be able to talk to the children. I should like you to. But you
look dreadfully tired. I reproach myself very much. However," she added
suddenly with an amused twinkle in her eyes, "you have your dear little
pilules to keep you company. Did you remember to take one after every
shock you had, and was it ignatia this time or Bella Donna?" and with
this she rose laughing, and danced out of the room.
"Will the child ever steady down!" sighed Miss Gregson.