At breakfast next morning young Harry was much surprised and concerned
to be told that he was going to have a governess.
"A guv'niss," he said, pausing in the act of raising a spoonful of
oatmeal porridge to his mouth, "a guv'niss, papa? What's a guv'niss?
Something to eat?"
"No, child; a governess is a lady, who will do the duties of a teacher
to you, learn you your lessons and--"
"Mamma can do that."
"And give you sums to do."
"Ma does all that, papa."
"And go with you wherever you go."
Harry leant his chin upon his hand thoughtfully for a moment or two;
then he said:
"Mm, will the guv'niss go high up the trees with me, papa, and will she
make faces at Towsie?"
"I don't think so, Harold."
"I don't want the old lady," said Harry.
"Your leave will not be asked, my dear boy."
"Then," said Harry, in as determined a voice as he could command, "I
shall _hate_ her, and _beat_ her, and _bite_ her."
"I'm afraid," said Mr Milvaine, turning to his wife, "that you spoil
that child."
"I'm afraid," returned Mrs Milvaine mildly, "I have received assistance
from you."
Harry's governess came in a week. It was surely a sad look-out for her,
if she was to be hated and beaten and bitten.
She was not a prim, angular, starchy, "tawsey"-looking old maid by any
means. At most she had seen but nineteen summers; fresh in face,
blue-eyed, dimpled, and with beautiful hair.
Harry soon took to her.
"I sha'n't beat you," he said, "as long as you're good."
The attic was cleared of cobwebs and rubbish, and turned into a
schoolroom, and studies at regular hours of the day commenced forthwith.
Harry determined to make his own terms with his "guv'niss." He would be
good, and learn his lessons, and do his sums, and write his copy and all
that, if she would read out of a book to him every day, and describe to
him a scene in some far-off land.
She promised.
Before commencing lessons of a forenoon, Miss Campbell read a portion of
one of the Gospels to him, and then she prayed. Miss Campbell was one
of those girls who are not ashamed to pray, not ashamed to ask mercy,
help and guidance from Him from whom all blessings flow. Before leaving
school Miss Campbell took the Book again, but now no other portion would
he allow her to read except the Revelations. There was a charm about
these that never, never palled upon the child.
But always in the evenings "Guvie" had to devote herself to a different
kind of literature, and the books now were usually tales of adventure by
land and at sea.
Miss Campbell did try her wee pupil with "Sandford and Merton." I am
sorry to say he would have none of it. The "Arabian Nights" pleased
better, but he could not quite understand them.
For Sunday reading nothing delighted Harry better than Bunyan's
"Pilgrim's Progress." I am happy in being able to put this on record,
and boys who have not read the work, have a real treat in store for
them.
So Miss Campbell and her pupil got on very well together indeed; and
many a delightful walk, ay, and run too, they had in the forest. They
were a trio-now, because Eily always made one of the number. She went
to school as well as Harry, and if she did not learn anything, at all
events she lay still and listened, and that is more than every dog would
have done.
Harry introduced his "Guvie," as he called her, to his pet toad, which
she pretended to admire, but was secretly somewhat afraid of.
"John told me, Guvie," he said one day, "that toadie would go to sleep
all winter, so I'm going to put a biscuit in his box for his breakfast
when he wakes, then we won't go near him till spring-time comes."
They say the child is the father of the man. I believe there is much
truth in the statement, so that, in describing Harry's character as a
_young_ boy, I am saving myself the trouble of doing so when he is very
much older, and mingling in wilder life.
He was impulsive then and brave, fond to some extent of mischief of a
mild, kind nature, but he was tender-hearted. One day in the forest he
came to the foot of a great Scotch fir-tree.
"There is an old nest up there, Guvie. I'm off up."
She would have held him, but he was far beyond her reach ere she could
do so. He stopped when about ten feet above her.
"I knew, Guvie," he cried, with a roguish smile on his countenance,
"that you would try to catch me if you could. Now come, Guvie, catch me
now, if you can."
"Oh! do come down, Harry dear," the poor girl exclaimed. "You frighten
me nearly to death."
"Don't die, Guvie dear, there's a good Guvie; I'm only going to the top
of the tree, to the very top you know, no farther, to pull down the old
nest, else the nasty lazy magpie will lay in it again next year, and not
build a new one at all."
"Do, Harry, come down," cried Miss Campbell, "and I'll give you
anything."
"No, no, Guvie; papa always says, `Do your duty, Harold boy, always do
your duty.' I'm going to do what papa bids me. Good-bye, Guvie, I'll
soon be back."
And away he went. It seemed, several times ere he reached the top, that
he would be back far sooner than even he himself expected, for little
branches often gave way with a crack that sent a thrill of horror
through Miss Campbell's heart.
"Oh! what if he should fall and be killed," she thought.
But presently Harry was high high up on the very point of the tree. He
proceeded at once to throw down the great nest of sticks and grass and
clay; no very easy task, as he had to work with one hand, while he held
on with the other.
But he finished at last, and the nest lay at Miss Campbell's feet.
The wind blew high to-day, and the tree swayed and swayed about, just
like a ship's mast at sea.
"Oh! Miss Guvie, do try to come up," cried the boy, looking down. "It
is so nice; and I can see all over the country. Wouldn't I like to be a
sailor. Do come up."