BERTHA LOSES HER SITUATION
Master Charley strutted into the parlor, cane in hand, and was warmly
greeted by the guests, who, as a matter of politeness, if nothing else,
were in duty bound to admire his curly head and his cunning manners.
For a time, therefore, Bertha escaped observation, and the heir of Blue
Hill was the center of attraction.
“I can spell cat; c-a-t, cat,” roared Charley; “and I can spell dog;
d-o-g, dog.”
“Now, who is governor of New York, Charley?” whispered Bertha.
“Oh, I know!” and Charley scratched his head and disarranged the curls,
to the horror of his mother. “Oh, I know who is governor of New York;
it is Capt. Kidd; and he buried lots of money round here, somewhere.”
The company laughed heartily at this sally, and thought it was very
cunning; but Bertha blushed at the carelessness of her pupil, and Mrs.
Byron looked daggers at the governess. The exhibition of Charley’s
quick points promised to be a failure; and Bertha was sadly perplexed,
for she felt that she was not giving satisfaction.
But there was still one more hope left. She had taught Charley to play
“Days of Absence” with one finger on the piano, and she thought he
might possibly make a sensation with this, if he had not forgotten it,
as he had almost everything else. She placed him upon the stool, and,
putting the finger in the right place, the young gentleman went through
this performance in a very creditable manner, very much to the surprise
even of his mother, who had not heard him do it. The guests clapped
their hands, and expressed their admiration in no measured terms, which
so excited the vanity of the child that he immediately proceeded to
perform another astounding feat, which was not put down in the program.
This was no less than throwing a back somerset, in imitation of Noddy
Newman.
If the experiment had not been a failure, no doubt it would have been
received with rapturous applause, as everything he did was received;
but Charley was not quite equal to a back somerset, and struck the
floor upon the top of his head. The new sensation was decidedly
unpleasant to the heir of Blue Hill, and was not at all agreeable to
the company. It was followed by a yell that would have been creditable
to a tiger in the jungle of Hindustan. Bertha ran to his assistance,
picked him up, and rubbed the bump which had been so suddenly
developed. It was the bump of self-esteem naturally enlarged, which
was entirely unnecessary, for Charley had a superabundance before the
accident.
The sympathizing guests gathered around the wounded hero, and
endeavored to console him; but he bawled incessantly, and refused to
be comforted. Mrs. Byron was shocked, and declared that the mishap
had resulted from the careless governess introducing the boy to bad
company. But whatever the cause, and whatever the efforts used to
induce Master Charley to moderate his excessive grief, he wept and
roared as one without hope.
“Take him to the nursery,” said Mrs. Byron, in a whisper to Bertha.
“Come upstairs with me, Charley, and I will make a house for you,” said
Bertha.
“I won’t go upstairs. I don’t want any of your old pictures,” bawled
the discomfited hero.
“Come up with me, and I will sing ‘Three Blind Mice’ to you.”
“I won’t.”
“We will play horse, then.”
“I don’t want to play horse. I am going to stay here as long as I
please.”
Bertha was tempted to pick him up, and carry him out of the room; but
this would be violation of all rule and precedent. In vain she coaxed
him; in vain she promised to play everything and sing everything.
Charley had lost his temper, and nothing could move him. A spoiled
child on exhibition, especially when he performs after the manner of
Master Charley on the present occasion, is disgusting to all except his
parents. Mrs. Byron was not satisfied with the conduct of her hopeful;
but instead of regarding it as the result of a want of discipline, she
attributed it all to the mismanagement of the governess.
Bertha would have brought the scene to a conclusion, however
unpleasant, without delay, if she had dared to do so; but as Master
Charley must have his own way, no matter who suffered, or what
consequences followed, he was not taken from the room by the strong
hand of authority. He bawled till his throat must have been sorer than
his head, and the company were tired of the music.
At last, a gentleman, despairing of any relief, took out his watch, and
offered to show the works to the disconsolate heir. This was a rare
treat, and Charley had the grace to yield the point, and submit to a
treaty of peace, or at least to a suspension of hostilities.
“How do you do, Miss Grant?” said a gentleman who had been observing
Bertha with close attention for some time, as he stepped forward and
extended his hand.
She took it, blushed deeply, and stammered out a reply, for Mrs. Byron
was standing by her side.
“How is your father?” asked the gentleman.
“He is not very well. I have not seen him lately.”
“I have frequently met you at Woodville; perhaps you do not remember
me.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“I have been at the South for some months, and returned yesterday. Do
you still reside at Woodville?”
“No, sir.”
“You are visiting your friends here, I suppose. It is very kind of you
to attempt to manage that child,” he added, in a low tone, as Mrs.
Byron’s attention was called to a rupture between Charley and his new
friend, whose watch the dear little fellow insisted upon picking to
pieces.
“He is very hard to manage,” replied Bertha.
“A spoiled child,” added the gentleman, as Mrs. Byron returned to the
spot.
“My governess is wholly incompetent,” said she, angrily, for she had
heard the last remark. “Charley is a good boy, and, when properly
managed, is as gentle as a lamb, Mr. Gray.”
“He appears to be,” added the gentleman, satirically. “He evidently has
a sweet temper, and in due time will make a great and good man.”
Mrs. Byron did not understand these remarks, but took them as a
compliment, and her anger was partially appeased.
“He has had enough to try the temper of a saint. He nearly died with
cholera three days ago from eating green apples, of which the governess
permitted him to partake.”
Mr. Gray looked at Bertha, and evidently did not believe this
statement, for the sudden coloring of Bertha’s cheek seemed to refute
the falsehood.
“Do I understand you that Miss Grant is the child’s governess?”
“Miss Loring,” added Mrs. Byron.
“But this is the daughter of Mr. Grant, of Woodville,” said the
gentleman, who was perplexed by the name and the relation which she
bore to the family.
“My father has met with some heavy reverses,” stammered Bertha. “I am
engaged as a governess here.”
“Pardon me,” said Mr. Gray, who was now greatly embarrassed. “As I
said, I have recently come home, after an absence of some months, and
had not heard of the unpleasant position of your father’s affairs.”
“Miss Grant?” said the lady of the house. “Miss Loring, you can
retire,” she added, in a loud tone.
Bertha was too glad to obey this haughty command to object even to
the tone in which it was uttered. But when she had gone, Mrs. Byron
heard more about Mr. Grant and his affairs; for there were several
present who were acquainted with him, and all had read the history of
his alleged fall in the papers. She learned that the father of her
governess was even then a prisoner in the Tombs.
“To think that I have placed my only child in the care of such a
person!” exclaimed Mrs. Byron.
“Miss Bertha Grant is a very excellent young lady,” Mr. Gray ventured
to suggest.
“She is an impostor!” said Mrs. Byron, who seemed to feel that the
governess was the cause of all her mortal trials.
“At Woodville she was regarded as a young lady of splendid abilities,
and her mission to the poor children of Dunk’s Hollow was the
admiration of all the neighborhood,” added Mr. Gray. “I know of no
person to whom I would more willingly intrust my children.”
“She is an impostor!” persisted Mrs. Byron. “That is enough to condemn
her;” and leaving Charley to entertain the company in his fascinating
way, she flounced out of the room, and hastened to the nursery, to
which Bertha had already retreated.
“Miss Loring, you have deceived and disappointed me,” she began, still
flushed with anger.
“I am sorry I deceived you, Mrs. Byron, and I hope you will forgive me,
for I meant no harm to you.”
“You are an impostor!”
“No, ma’am, I am not. I am just what I represented myself to be.”
“Your father is in prison for fraud.”
“That is his misfortune, but it is not my fault,” replied Bertha,
indignant at this brutal treatment.
“Misfortune? Yes, that is what they always call it when a man commits a
crime.”
“My father has committed no crime.”
“You came here under a false name. You have imposed upon me. I don’t
know what you are, even now. At any rate, you are not a fit person to
watch over the innocent life of my only child. I tremble for him even
now, after you have been here only a week. Of course you understand me.”
“Your words are plain enough.”
“I don’t want you to remain here another night,” added the angry woman.
“I have trusted you too long.”
“I hope I have not abused your confidence,” said Bertha, overwhelmed by
this outburst of abuse.
“I have not counted my spoons since you came.”
“Madam, that is an insult that no lady would put upon an unprotected
girl. I will leave your house immediately,” answered Bertha, almost
stunned by this unfeeling charge.
“As quick as possible, if you please,” sneered the lady. “I dare not
lose sight of you.”
Bertha stepped into the adjoining room, and in a few moments was
dressed ready to leave the house.
“I should like to look into your trunk before you go,” said Mrs. Byron,
whose malice seemed to be unlimited.
“You cannot, madam,” replied Bertha, firmly, but respectfully.
“But I think I shall. Since I have found out what you are, I have a
great many doubts. Give me the key of your trunk.”
“No, madam, I will not. I will submit to no further insult.”
“I will see if you won’t.”
“If you proceed any further, madam, I will appeal to Mr. Gray for
protection. He was my father’s friend, and I hope he is mine. I will
leave your house at once, and send for my trunk as soon as I can.”
“Not till your trunk has been examined.”
“Very well, madam; I will appeal to Mr. Gray,” and she passed out of
the room.
“Stop, Miss Loring.”
Bertha paused in the hall.
“If there is nothing in your trunk but what belongs to you, you need
not fear to have it examined.”
“There is nothing but my property in it; but I will not submit to such
an insult.”
“You can go! and if Mr. Byron thinks it necessary to search the trunk,
he will do so.”
“You have forgotten to pay me my salary, madam,” said Bertha.
“Dare you ask for payment after what has happened?”
“I think I am justly entitled to what I have earned.”
“I don’t think so, and you can go.”
“But I want my wages, madam.”
“I do not owe you anything. You imposed upon me, and you have done
Charley more harm than good. He never behaved as he did this evening
before since he was born.”
“I think I have done my duty faithfully; at least I have tried to do
it. I have not money enough to pay my fare to the city, and I hope you
will not keep back my wages.”
“I shall pay you nothing.”
“I shall be very sorry to appeal to Mr. Gray for assistance, but I
shall have to ask him to lend me a few dollars.”
“You impudent hussy!” exclaimed Mrs. Byron, in a great rage, as she
again found herself in a difficult position.
Mr. Gray was a wealthy and influential person, and she would have given
any sum rather than permit him to know anything about the matter.
Bertha said no more, but walked down the stairs, intending to call Mr.
Gray from the parlor, and tell him the whole truth. When she reached
the lower hall, she heard the screams of Master Charley, who had
evidently had a falling out with the owner of the watch.
“I want Miss Loring!” screamed the little ruffian.
She was about to approach the open door of the parlor, when Mrs. Bryon
rushed down the stairs, and in more gentle tones than she had heard her
use since the first day she came into the house, called her by name.
She paused, and the lady joined her.
“Here is three dollars. I believe that is what I owe you--is it not?”
“Yes, madam; thank you.”
“Peter has a horse and wagon at the door, and he will carry your trunk
for you.”
“Thank you, ma’am; you are very kind,” said Bertha, surprised at the
sudden change in the manner of the lady.
The powerful name of Mr. Gray had wrought the change, with, perhaps, a
consciousness that she had exceeded the bounds of humanity and decency.
The lady stepped into the parlor and closed the door behind her, that
no one might witness the departure of the discharged governess. Bertha
found in Peter a ready friend, and in a few moments she was seated in
the wagon by his side, with her trunk in front of her.
“Where shall I drive you, Miss Loring?” asked Peter, as they proceeded
down the hill to the road.
“I hardly know, Peter,” replied Bertha, sadly. “I have no place to go.”
“No place to go!” exclaimed he. “What are you leaving at this hour of
night for, then?”
“I was obliged to leave.”
“Ah! I see how it is. I was afraid that brat would be the death of you;
and when I heard him screeching in the parlor, I thought there would be
a row for somebody. Then you have been discharged?”
“I have.”
“Turned out of the house at this hour of night, with no place to go!
That woman has no more soul than a brickbat.”
“Is there a hotel in the village, Peter?”
“There is; but it is no place for a girl like you. If you will go to my
cottage, you shall have a poor man’s welcome.”
“Thank you, Peter. I shall be very grateful to you if you will let me
remain with you till morning.”
“I will, with all my heart.”
Peter was head groom at Blue Hill, and his house was only a short
distance from the residence of Mr. Byron. Peter’s wife received
her kindly and conducted her to the little spare chamber which was
appropriated to her use.
The groom evidently understood the temper of the mistress of Blue Hill
well enough to comprehend the nature of the difficulty which had driven
Bertha from her place, and neither he nor his wife asked any questions.
Although it was quite early in the evening, the poor girl preferred to
retire, and her hostess offered no objection.
The events of the evening had been so rapid and unexpected that Bertha
was entirely unprepared for the shock which had so suddenly fallen upon
her. Again she was alone and friendless in the world, and she could
hardly expect another lucky incident would supply her with a home, as
had been the case only a week before. But she was a little better off
than she had been then, for she had three dollars in her purse, with
which to pay her fare to the city.
Before she went to sleep she committed herself to the care of her
heavenly Father, and felt confident that He would guide her steps, and
protect her in the midst of the trials which were before her.
At breakfast the next morning, when Bertha announced her purpose of
going to the city, Peter offered to drive her down to the ferry, where
she could cross the river, and take the train on the other side. She
accepted his offer, and as soon as he could get the horse, he returned
from the stable.
In a short time Bertha was embarked on the ferry, with many thanks
to Peter and his wife for their kindness, which, she assured him,
should never be forgotten. A ride of less than an hour brought her to
the great city, where everybody seemed to be rushing to and fro, as
though the salvation of the world depended upon the rapidity of their
movements. None of them took any notice of poor Bertha, and she was
more alone in the midst of the multitude than she had been amid the
rural scenes she had just left.
She knew not what to do, or where to go, and having left her trunk in
charge of the baggage master at the railroad station, she wandered down
Broadway.