BERTHA BECOMES A GOVERNESS
“There,” said Mrs. Byron, as she joined her little son on the piazza,
when the nurse had gone, “that is the fourth person I have had to take
care of Charley. Now she is gone, and I don’t know where I shall get
another. It is not every person that I am willing to trust to take care
of my little boy.”
“It must be very trying to you,” added Bertha, thoughtfully.
“I paid her ten dollars a month for her services; but I tremble to
think of the dangers which Charley has escaped while in the care of
these negligent servants.”
“I suppose you would think I am too young to take care of Charley?”
said Bertha, while her cheek crimsoned and her heart seemed to rise up
into her throat.
“You!” exclaimed the lady, with a smile, as she glanced at Bertha from
head to foot.
“Yes, madam; if you could give me twelve dollars a month, I should like
to obtain the situation of governess of the child. I have had some
experience in teaching children.”
“You astonish me, miss. I do not even know your name yet.”
“Bertha----” She was about to give her whole name but the thought
suddenly occurred to her that, if she did so, her application would
at once be rejected; and, without stopping to consider whether it was
right or wrong to give a false name, she added: “Bertha Loring.”
No sooner had she given this name than she regretted it; but conscious
that she had no evil intention in doing so, she did not attempt to
correct the error.
“Bertha Loring,” added Mrs. Byron. “How old are you?”
“I am nearly fourteen.”
“But you said you had had some experience in teaching children,” said
the lady, rather incredulously.
“Yes, ma’am. It was in a kind of mission school, and it was voluntary
teaching.”
“Ah, that, indeed,” mused Mrs. Byron. “You are rather young, especially
for the salary you ask.”
“I have a sister who is dependent upon me for support, and I must do
something by which I can earn about three dollars a week.”
“Have you any testimonials of character or ability?”
“None, ma’am; I have never been in any situation yet.”
“It would hardly be proper for me to place my only child in the care of
a total stranger.”
“Very true, ma’am,” sighed Bertha; “but I have none.”
“But I like your appearance and manners very much, and I am very
grateful for what you have done for Charley. Perhaps you could refer me
to some person with whom you are acquainted.”
Bertha was about to mention the name of the clergyman in Whitestone,
whose church her father’s family had attended; but as the words were
upon her lips, she happened to remember that she had not given her real
name, and that the minister would not know any such person as Bertha
Loring.
“For reasons which I could give, if necessary, I would rather not refer
to any of my former friends,” said Bertha.
“Your former friends?” repeated the lady, who, by this time had begun
to obtain some idea of the circumstances of the applicant. “Are they
not your friends now?”
“I do not know, ma’am,” sighed Bertha. “As I have no references I think
I will take my leave.”
“Don’t go yet, Miss Loring. I assure you I feel a deep interest in you,
and only a necessary caution prevents me from engaging you at once. You
must perceive that your situation is quite peculiar.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know that it is; and therefore I am unwilling to trouble
you any longer.”
“You have evidently been well educated; and at your age you cannot
possibly be an adventuress.”
Bertha was not very clear what the lady meant by an adventuress, but
she hastened to assure her she was not one.
“And I should suppose from your name that you belong to a good family.”
“My father has been very unfortunate,” replied Bertha, “or I should not
be an applicant for this situation.”
“Where is your father now?”
“He is in New York City.”
“Possibly my husband knows him,” added the lady. “Loring? Loring?” she
continued, musing.
“I don’t think he does,” replied Bertha. “But, ma’am, my father does
not know that I am trying to earn my own living and that of my sister.
He has very recently failed in business. My friends don’t know that I
am an applicant for such a place; and, for reasons of my own, I wish to
conceal my movements, at least for the present. You will excuse me from
answering any questions in regard to my family.”
Poor Bertha! It was her first attempt at deception of any kind, and she
could hardly play the part she had chosen.
“I think I perfectly understand your position, and as Charley seems to
like you so well, I shall engage you at the salary you named.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” exclaimed Bertha, astonished at the decision of
Mrs. Byron. “You are very generous to take me without testimonials or
reference; but I assure you your confidence shall not be undeserved.”
“I am quite satisfied, or I shouldn’t have ventured to engage you under
these circumstances. Here, Charley, how would you like this young lady
to take care of you?”
“Oh, ever so much, ma!” exclaimed Charley, jumping off his horse and
seizing the new governess by the hand.
“She will teach you to read, Charley,” added his mother.
“Oh, goody! I want to be able to read my picture books; but I can spell
cat now; c-a-t, cat.”
“Till you learn I will read them to you, Charley,” said Bertha, who had
already begun to feel a strong interest in her young charge.
“Have you any taste for music, Miss Loring?”
“I can play and sing a little,” replied Bertha, modestly.
“Come and let me hear you play,” said Charley, as he tugged away at
the hand of Bertha, and finally dragged her into the parlor, where the
piano was located.
“He is very fond of music,” remarked Mrs. Byron, as she followed them
into the parlor.
Bertha played several simple pieces for the amusement of the little
boy, and played them so well that the mother was even more delighted
than the child. Then, at the special request of Charley, she played
and sang “Three Blind Mice,” which suited him so well that he called
for more. For an hour she engaged the attention of both her auditors;
and then the heir of Blue Hill, as the estate of Mr. Byron was called,
clamored for “pickers,” which, rendered into the vernacular, meant
pictures.
Charley produced pencils, paper and a slate, and insisted that Bertha
should “make a house.” She had early developed a decided taste
and talent for drawing, and, up to the commencement of the summer
vacation, she had taken lessons of an artist whose cottage was in the
neighborhood of Woodville. Her teacher declared that she would make an
artist, and quite a number of her pencil drawings adorned the walls of
her father’s house. In the extremity of her want and sorrow she had
thought of applying her talent to a profitable use, and she had not yet
given up the idea.
She took the pencil which Charley brought, and made a house which was
entirely satisfactory. Then she made men, and horses, and carts, and
other objects which the young gentleman called for, so that she soon
became a prodigy in his eyes, and, of course, as the mother saw with
the child’s eyes, she was equally a wonder in her estimation.
When Charley began to grow weary of pictures, both of them were well
rested from the fatigue of their walk, and the child proposed a
ramble in the garden, where Bertha was just as pleasing and just as
instructive as she had been at the piano and with the pencil.
At six o’clock Mr. Byron came home, and heard with astonishment the
change which had been made in the domestic affairs of the family.
Master Charley had considerable to say about his new governess, as his
mother had already taught him to call her, and he recommended her so
highly that the father was well satisfied with the change.
As soon as she had an opportunity she wrote to Ben, informing him
what and where she was, and asking him to send her trunk to her. On
the following day the trunk was brought down in the boat, and she had
a visit from Ben and Noddy. The old man was glad to see her so well
situated, but he had his doubts about the change of name. Noddy jumped
and capered like an antelope, and astonished Charley by throwing back
and forward somersets, and by such gyrations as the little fellow had
never seen before. The visit was a pleasant one to all parties, and Ben
and Noddy left with the promise to call again in a short time.
While Bertha was watching the boat as it sped on its way up the river,
she heard a sharp cry from Charley, and on turning, saw him lying on
the ground.
“Why, what’s the matter, Charley?” she cried, lifting him up.
“I bumped my head and hurt me,” replied he.
Bertha examined the injured member, and found a pretty smart bump on
the summit of his cranium, which she washed in cold water from the
river and rubbed it till Charley declared it was quite well.
“How did you do it?” asked she.
“I was trying to do what Noddy did, and hit my head upon a stone.”
“You mustn’t try to do such things as that.”
“Noddy did it.”
“Noddy is a little wild boy. I have told him a great many times not to
do such things. It isn’t pretty, and you must not try to do so again.”
“I should like to do what Noddy did, and I mean to try it again.”
“Don’t, Charley; you may get a worse bump than you did this time.”
“I don’t care if I do; if Noddy did it, I can.”
But before the forcible arguments which the governess brought forward
Master Charley finally promised not to break his head in vain attempts
to do what was neither pretty nor proper for the heir of Blue Hill to
do.
A few days after the visit of the boatman she received a letter from
Richard, which had been forwarded to her from Whitestone. He wrote in
excellent spirits, and said he had obtained a situation on board of a
gentleman’s yacht, and was about to sail for Newport. He had seen his
father in the Tombs. He was to be examined on the following day and
fully expected to be discharged. This was all Richard said about his
father. It was meager enough, and very unsatisfactory to Bertha. She
had not the money to pay the expense of a visit to the city, or she
would have asked leave of absence for a day to go and see him. She had
written several letters to him, but had not yet received any reply, and
therefore supposed they did not reach him.
Bertha soon found that her situation was not a bed of roses. Mrs. Byron
was not an angel. Her temper was not angelic, and the governess was
sometimes compelled to submit to harsh and unmerited rebuke, couched in
such language as she had never heard before.
The hopeful heir of Blue Hill, though he could spell “cat” and knew
who was President of the United States, was not yet fit to put on his
wings and become a cherub. He had some of his mother’s temper and a
great deal of his own obstinacy. He was an only child, and as such had
been indulged, as far as indulgence would go; and Bertha found that she
was expected to lead, not to govern, him. If Charley wanted to jump
into the river, she was to find arguments to convince him that the cold
water was uncomfortable and might drown him. If he wanted to eat green
apples, she was to persuade him not to do so, and not make him cry by
taking them away from him.
One day he took a notion that certain unripe winter pears would be
“good to take,” and had actually bitten one of them, when Bertha, with
as little force as was needful, took it from him and threw it away.
Charley set up a howl which made the ground shake under him and brought
his mother from the house. The heir of Blue Hill told his story, and
Bertha was sharply scolded for crossing the dear little fellow.
When Mrs. Byron suggested that the young gentleman ought to commence
learning his letters, the governess applied herself with becoming zeal
to the task of teaching him those mysterious characters. For ten
minutes Charley gave his attention; then he wanted her to read a story.
In vain she coaxed him to learn the letters; it was plain that he had
no taste for the heavy work of literature. Day after day she attempted
to fasten his mind upon the A B C, but with no better success. She
resorted to all the expedients she could devise, but Charley was as
obstinate as a mule.
These were some of her trials--trials with Master Charley; trials with
his mother. Bertha faithfully persevered and endured everything without
a murmur. But her charge was sometimes a little lamb, as pretty and as
cunning as child could be; and there were hours of sunshine--oases in
the desert of trial and care.
When Bertha had been at Blue Hill about a week Mr. Byron gave a large
dinner party, and the house was filled with all fine folks of the
surrounding country. Mrs. Byron was very much afraid Charley would get
into his “tantrums” in the presence of the company, and thus convince
them that he was not an angel, in spite of his velvet tunic and his
lace-frilled trousers. During the dinner hour, therefore--a period in
which Charley was peculiarly liable to be attacked by unaccountable
humors--Bertha was required to keep him in the nursery, and also to
keep him in excellent temper.
By dint of extraordinary tact and perseverance she succeeded in
accomplishing both these ends, and congratulated herself upon the
hope that she should thus escape the unwelcome infliction of seeing
any of the visitors. It was quite probable that among them were many
friends of her father, and the fear of being recognized, and her little
deception exposed, was terrible. The dinner hour was a fashionable one,
and before the party rose from the table Charley’s bedtime had arrived,
and she was on the point of disposing of him for the night, when Mrs.
Byron entered the nursery.
“The company have just gone to the parlor, and they all insist upon
seeing Charley,” said she.
Bertha was appalled; but it was useless to offer any objections, and
she proceeded to prepare her charge for the ordeal.
“I suppose it is not necessary for me to appear with him,” said she, in
an indifferent tone, which but ill concealed her anxiety.
“Certainly it is,” replied Mrs. Byron, sharply. “You must go with him,
and be sure that you make him appear to the best advantage. You can
tell him some cunning little things to say before he goes down. Let him
come into the room with his hat on and his little cane in his hand.”
“Wouldn’t you excuse me from going with him?” pleaded Bertha.
“Certainly not.”
“I will go with him to the door and tell him what to say,” added Bertha.
“I thought you were brought up in a good family,” sneered Mrs. Byron.
“You surely are not afraid to appear in company.”
“Not afraid to, ma’am, but I do not like to do so.”
“Whether you like it or not, you must do so. Now be sure that Charley
appears well and shows himself to the best advantage,” said Mrs. Byron,
as she sailed out of the room.
There was no alternative, and Bertha prepared for the trial. Charley’s
plumed hat was put upon his head, his cane placed in his hand and he
was duly marched into the presence of the company.