THE GOVERNESS.
Down the long flat road bowled the buggy that was bringing the governess
from the station, for Father had gone over the night before to meet the
train; and now the children, in a state of wild excitement, were grouped
together, and wondered. Even Willie let all his eagerness and excitement
be seen. Just for the moment the grown-up, careless, sang froid manner
that he usually adopted was quite cast aside, and he was a little,
eager, natural boy again.
"I'll bet you anything that she's lame and'll wear glasses," he said,
looking round at the others. "There you are now. I'll bet before I see
her."
"Oh, sure to be!" they agreed. "Oh, dear! I wish she wasn't coming. If
only she wasn't coming, wouldn't it be lovely?"
The buggy drew up at the gate, and Mother went forward to meet the
newcomer.
"By Jove, she don't look bad!" cried Willie, as he peeped through the
dining-room window.
"Why, she looks real young," cried Mollie.
"She's just like a girl," cried Eva.
"What'd you expect her to be?" asked Willie, "a bloomin' old man?"
"Oh, but I mean a real nice young girl!" explained Eva.
"Just you wait a bit," he replied.
"Oh, she looks real nice!" said Eileen.
"Ugh! looks are nothing," grunted Willie, who was somewhat disappointed
at all his predictions coming to nothing. "Wait till she starts
teaching, and see if she looks so pretty then. She's got her best
manners on now."
"And what a pretty hat," said Mollie.
"Oh, lovely!" agreed Eileen, "and a real pretty dress, too. Look, she's
taking her dust-coat off!"
"Oh! who wants to see her old dress?" snapped Willie, who felt somewhat
out in the cold.
"They're coming in. Let's all go out the back way," and off they
scuttled.
Later on they were all introduced, and Miss Gibson was so bright and
friendly and took such an interest in everything that they found
themselves quite drawn to her. Even Willie said grudgingly, in his most
grown-up way, that "she wasn't half a bad sort, and if they carried
things out properly they might knock out a good many holidays."
They took her out to see the pets, and she asked their names and seemed
to know all about pet lambs and even chickens, and she could actually
ride. Then when they found out she used to live in the bush when she was
a child they took her to their hearts straight away.
"Yes, I am a real bush girl," she smiled, "but I've been in Sydney for
the last four years, teaching at College. I just used to long for the
bush, and the horses and the rides, and the wide, free, open spaces, and
solitude when you wanted it, and to get up early and watch the sun rise,
and then to watch the stars twinkle into space, and then just to gaze
and gaze at the sky until there seemed nothing else in the world but
yourself and the starshine."
"Really, it was wonderful," the children declared, "to think that a nice
girl who knew all about the bush and who knew pet lambs and could ride
had come to teach them, and to think that they had had all their trouble
and worry for nothing, thinking and wondering about her." Eileen said it
would be a lesson to her, and she would never, never worry again.
So five very happy little bush girls went to bed that night, with the
suspense of the last few weeks quite gone from their minds. And Willie,
too, was quite jubilant.
"Anyhow, it's better than having a cross, prim old dame that won't let a
fellow have a joke," he said, as he lit his candle in the hall, "and
we've only got to work things all right and I'll bet we'll get plenty of
holidays. One thing, she can't expect a man to be always stuck at
school."
And so school life commenced, and went on very smoothly, although now
and then the children felt it a bit irksome, for they had been used to
so much freedom that it was something quite new to have to answer bells
and keep rules and silence in school hours, and sometimes they simply
longed to tear out over the green paddocks just in the midst of a
history or geography lesson. Their minds would wander away from names
and dates down to the clover patch or to the river bend or some other
well-known patches, and as soon as school was over they would rush off
with wild hurrahing and run wild for an hour or two.
Miss Gibson, though kind, was firm, and insisted on good work and
attention, and sometimes, as much as they liked her, they would get
together and discuss her, and then perhaps they would come in and find
her chatting brightly with Mother or helping her to make scones and
cakes, and all their ill-feeling would vanish, for Mother looked so much
brighter and happier since the governess came, and they would rush off
to see if they, too, couldn't help.
Sometimes in the afternoons Miss Gibson would let them off an hour
earlier, and would take a walk with them. She had sometimes noticed
traces of discontent in her little charges, and wished to imbue them
with the love of Nature.
"Do you know, children," she said one day, "I really don't think you
realise how well off you are."
"Well off?" echoed the children, for they were in a discontented mood
that day, and nothing seemed to go right.
"Yes--well off. Just think what you inherit. Those vast wide spaces, and
the great blue dome of the sky for a roof, the beautiful sunbeams, or at
night the silver-specked vault, and at your feet a great, green velvet
carpet fit for kings to walk on."
"Dear me, that sounds beautiful!" cried Mollie. "I often think we're
lucky, but I can't think things like you."
"Tell us more," begged Eva, who regarded it as a story, and she linked
her arm through Miss Gibson's.
Miss Gibson laughed merrily.
"Very well, dear. Did you ever think what a world of wonder we live in?"
"Oh, that's all right when you're rich and travel about!" said Eileen.
"You're sure to see a lot of wonderful things then."
"Why, my dear, they surround you."
Eileen looked round. "I don't see anything so very wonderful." Eileen
was in the mood for argument.
"Look at those lights and shades down in the gullies; look at those
twinkling little golden clover flowers. Look at the sunlight flickering
on those great snow-white gum trees; and later on this evening we will
watch the sunset, with all its glorious colours that artists rave about
and try in vain to seize for their canvas. Think of all the beauty and
wonder of the seasons, the coming and going, the birth and bloom and
fading and decaying and silence and rest of our wonder world. We ought
to all try and keep young at heart, and enjoy and love the big open book
of Nature that is flung open all around us. Think of the glorious
moonlight nights and the beautiful glowing sunrises, or that pearly
glimpse we get of the world just before dawn, when it all seems wrapped
in mystery. I want you to become lovers of Nature, and you will never be
quite lonely. Think of the joy of watching tiny leaflets and buds
opening into beauty and watching and tending their growth. Think of the
wonders along the river banks, where the wild ducks dip and glide and
dive, and the dear little fluffy ducklings, with bright, beady eyes,
fluttering about in the water, imitating their elders. Don't you ever
think what a grand thing it is to have your sight, just to see all the
beauties around you?"
"Ye-es," said Eileen, somewhat reluctantly; "it is all beautiful and
wonderful."
"Yes, it is so," they all agreed.
"Dear me, it's nice to think about it," said Mollie. "You do make
everything sound nice, and you make one glad to be alive and living in
the country. Let's have lessons outside sometimes, Miss Gibson," she
went on. "Oh, I'd love it!"
"So would I!" and "So would I," they all shouted.
"Very well," answered Miss Gibson, delighted to see them so
enthusiastic. "We shall have lessons outside sometimes, and excursions
to the river and different parts of the paddocks, and in the years to
come you will look back with pleasure on those Nature studies, I am
sure. Why, you might all develop into writers or artists or poets if you
will only open your minds to the beauties about you."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Eva. "If I could only be an artist!"
"I want to be a poet," declared Doris.
"And I'd love to write," said Mollie.
"I'd like to be all," declared Eileen, "and I might be some day once I
start and put my mind to things."
"I don't think," jeered Willie. "It's as much as you'll manage to be one
of 'em."
"I'm goin' to write poetry," declared Doris.
After that the children grew most enthusiastic, and were always bringing
in specimens and plants and leaves, and watching butterflies and ants
and calling each other to watch the sunsets, and discovering new
beauties in everything. But one day Mother said they were carrying
things too far, when Doris came home sopping wet and her boots and socks
caked with black mud; and Eva nearly as bad, for she had just pulled
Doris out of the creek, where she slipped in while trying to catch a
little wild duck that was playing at the water's edge.
"Such a little beauty!" cried Doris, as she dragged her socks off. "I
wanted it for spessiman."
"You'd better leave 'specimens' alone," said Mother, "if you can't
manage any better than that."
"Yes, I better leave 'spessmans' alone a bit," agreed Doris, as she
shook her socks, for she generally agreed with anyone.
"Of course, you can gather flowers and plants," said Mother, relenting
somewhat, "out in the paddock, where you're safe."
"Yes, out where I'm safe," echoed Doris.