Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: There she stood]
THE GOVERNESS
BY
JULIE M. LIPPMANN
_Author of_
"MAMMA-BY-THE-DAY," etc.
_Illustrated by_
CHARLES R. CHICKERING
McClelland, Goodchild & Stewart
Publishers ------ Toronto
1916
Copyright 1897 by
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
Copyright 1916 by
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
The Governess
Contents
CHAP.
I NAN
II NAN'S VISITOR
III MR. TURNER'S PLAN
IV THE GOVERNESS
V GETTING ACQUAINTED
VI WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS
VII OPEN CONFESSION
VIII NAN'S HEROINE
IX HAVING HER OWN WAY
X EXPERIENCES
XI CHRISTMAS
XII SMALL CLOUDS
XIII ON THE ICE
XIV CHANGES
XV A TUG OF WAR
XVI THE SLEIGH-RIDE
XVII CONSEQUENCES
XVIII "CHESTER NEWCOMB"
XIX IN MISS BLAKE'S ROOM
XX THROUGH DEEP WATERS
XXI ANOTHER CHRISTMAS
Illustrations
There she stood . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"I'll run away first!"
The little governess was beside her
"I have a little errand to do"
"Provoking things!"
The Governess
CHAPTER I
NAN
"Hello, Nan!"
"Heyo, Ruthie!"
"Where are you going?"
"Over to Reid's lot."
"Take me?"
"No, Ruthie, can't."
The little child's lip began to tremble. "I think you're real mean,
Nan Cutler," she complained.
Nan shook her head. "Can't help it if you do," she returned, stoutly,
and took a step on.
"Nannie," cried the child eagerly, starting after her and clutching her
by the skirt, "I didn't mean that! Truly, I didn't. I think you're
just as nice as you can be. Do please let me go with you. Won't you?"
Nan compressed her lips. "Now, Ruth, look here," she said after a
moment, in which she stood considering, "I'd take you in a minute if I
could but the truth is--oh, you're too little."
"I ain't too little!"
"Well, then, your mother doesn't like you to be with me, so there!"
cried Nan, in a burst of reckless frankness.
Ruth hung her head. She could not deny it but at sight of her
companion turning to leave her she again started forward, piping
shrilly, "Nannie! Nannie! She won't care this time. Honest, she
won't."
Nan stalked on without turning her head.
The hurrying little feet followed on close behind.
"Nannie! Nannie!"
"See here, Ruth," exclaimed the girl, veering suddenly about and
speaking with decision. "You can't come, and that's all there is about
it. Your mother doesn't like me, and you ought not to disobey her.
Now run back home like a good little girl."
The delicate, small face upturned to hers grew hardened and set, but
the child did not move.
Nan gave her a friendly shove on the shoulder and turned on her way
again. Immediately she heard the tap of hurrying little feet behind,
like the echoing sound of her own hasty footsteps. She stopped and
swung about abruptly.
"Are you going to be a good little girl and go back this minute?" she
demanded sternly, calling to her assistance all the dignity of her
fourteen years, and turning on the poor infant a severe, unrelenting
eye.
The child gazed up at her reproachfully, but did not reply.
Nan felt herself fast losing patience. "Of all the provoking little
witches!" she exclaimed, in an underbreath of irritation.
Ruth's rebuking eyes surveyed her calmly, but she made no response.
"Now be good and trot along back," cajoled Nan, changing her tactics
and stroking the child's soft hair caressingly.
There was a visible pursing of the obstinate little lips, but no
further sign of acknowledgment.
Nan dropped her voice to a tone of honey-sweetness. "See here, Ruthie,
if you'll go home this minute I'll give you five cents. You can buy
anything you like with it at Sam's, on the way back." She plunged her
hand into her pocket and drew forth a bright new nickel, and held it
alluringly aloft.
The azure eyes gazed at it appreciatively, but the hand was not
outstretched to receive it. For a second Nan reviewed the situation in
silence. Then she flung about with a movement of exasperation, and
marched on stolidly, and the smaller feet hastened after her, keeping
pace with difficulty, and often breaking into a little run that they
might not be outstripped.
A chill autumn wind was sweeping up heavily from the northeast, and the
air was cold and raw. Nan shuddered as she walked, and wished Ruth
were safe and sound in her own warm home, which she never should have
been permitted to leave this blustering day. A score of plans for
ridding herself of her troublesome little follower crowded Nan's brain.
She might run and leave the youngster behind. But then Ruth would cry,
and Nan could not bear to inflict pain on a little child. She might
take her up in her arms and carry her bodily back to her own door.
Well, and what then? Why, simply, she would get the credit of abusing
the little girl. There seemed no way out of it. She stalked on
grimly, and when she came to Reid's lot she promptly and dexterously
climbed its fence and continued her way in silence. But the fence
proved an insurmountable obstacle to Ruth. She stood outside and
wailed dismally. The sound smote Nan, and made her turn around.
"Ruth Newton, you deserve to be spanked!" she announced, severely.
The child uttered another wail of entreaty. Nan sprang up to the
cross-bar of the palings, gathered her skirts about her knees, and
leaped down.
"Here, let me boost you, since you will get over," she said sharply.
After they were both safely on the other side Ruth's spirit rose, and
she capered about in the freedom of the open space as wildly as a young
colt. Nan had come for chestnuts. She announced the same presently to
Ruth. Ruth shouted gleefully.
"I'm going to climb the tree. You can stand underneath and pick up
what I shake, only mind you don't get the burr-prickles in your
fingers, for they hurt like sixty," warned Nan.
The child nodded her head and pranced over the brown, stubbly ground
with dancing feet, her cheeks aglow and her eyes flashing with
satisfaction.
She watched Nan with the liveliest interest, and when the older girl
was once comfortably ensconced in the lofty branches, she executed a
sort of war-dance underneath, and spread her tiny skirt to catch the
rain of nuts that Nan shook down upon her from above. But presently
this began to pall.
"I want to come up where you are, Nannie," she called, coaxingly.
"You'll have to want then," retorted Nan, carelessly munching nuts like
a squirrel.
"I could climb's good as anything if only I had a boost," drawled the
child ruefully.
Nan sprinkled a handful of shucks on her head.
"I'm going to try," ventured Ruth.
Nan laughed.
Ruth looked around, trying to discover some means by which she might
accomplish her purpose. Nan felt so sure that the child could not do
what she threatened that she made no effort to dissuade her. She,
herself, passed from bough to bough as nimbly as a boy, in spite of her
skirts, and in a very short time was almost out of sight among the
upper spreading branches. She sat astride one of these, swinging to
and fro and luxuriating in her sense of freedom and adventure. Peering
down occasionally she saw Ruth standing beneath her and sent repeated
showers of nuts spinning through the boughs to keep the child busy.
But presently Ruth disappeared. She had spied an old piece of board
and she immediately flew to get it, her silly little head filled with
the idea of making it serve her as a ladder. She tugged it laboriously
across the stubbly field, and her short, panting breaths did not reach
Nan's ear, full of the near rustle of leaves and the hum of the
scudding wind.
"Ahoy! below there!" she shouted nautically from above.
Ruth was too busy to respond. The board was heavy, and it took all the
strength of her slight arms to get it in position.
"Shipmate ahoy!" repeated Nan.
By this time the board had been tilted against the tree and Ruth was
scrambling up the unsteady inclined plane, too absorbed and scared in
her adventure to reply. She actually managed to reach the top and to
stand there tiptoeing the edge uncertainly, her small fingers clasping
the tree-trunk convulsively and her arms trying to grapple with it for
a surer hold. But suddenly she gave a piercing scream, and Nan,
peering down through the branches in instant alarm, saw Ruth lying at
the foot of the tree in a pitiful little motionless heap, and knew in a
moment that she had tried to do what she had threatened and had failed.
It did not take Nan a minute to reach the ground. Her heart seemed to
stand still with fear. She flung herself from bough to bough with
reckless haste and dropped to the ground all in one breathless instant.
"Ruth," she cried, bending over the little prostrate figure in an
agony. "Ruth, open your eyes! Get up! Oh, please get up!"
There was no answer. Nan wrung her hands in despair. The cold wind
blew over the field in chilling gusts. It made her shudder, and
instinctively she took a step toward her warm coat, which she had
stripped off and cast aside before climbing the tree. At sight of it a
new thought struck her. Ruth lying there on the frosty ground would
surely take cold--perhaps die from it! In a twinkling the soft, woolly
garment was wrapped securely about the child and Nan had her two stout
arms around her and was half dragging, half carrying her in the
direction of the distant fence. But they had not covered a dozen yards
before she felt her strength begin to fail. She was lifting a dead
weight, and it seemed to drag more heavily upon her every moment. Her
arms pulled in their sockets and her breath came in painful gasps, and
she knew that if she tried to keep on as she was it would be at the
cost of increasing misery. Still she did not give up, and at last,
after what seemed to her hours of agony and suspense, she actually
reached the limit of the field. She laid Ruth gently upon the ground
and straightened herself up to ease her aching back and regain her lost
breath before taking up her burden again. But as she lifted her head
her eyes fell on the high pickets before her, which seemed to confront
her with as grim defiance as if they had been bayonets. How could she
get Ruth over? The gate, which was at another end of the lot, was
always kept padlocked, and even if she had remembered this at first and
had carried the child there, she could not have undone the bolt. This
was the last straw! She felt frustrated and defeated, and a low sob of
complete discouragement broke from her. It was useless to dream of
getting Ruth over alone. The only way that remained was to secure
help, that was plain. She looked about wildly, but not a soul was in
sight, and she knew in her heart that the chances were against her.
The street at this point was near the city limits, and it had not been
built up as yet. There would be nothing to call any one here unless it
might be some boy who, like herself, had come out for chestnuts, and
what use would a mere boy be? If only John Gardiner were here! John
was tall and strong, and would lend a hand in a jiffy. But John also
was miles away. Ruth's eyes opened for a second and then closed
sleepily again. Nan's heart leaped up with new hope.
"Ruth! Ruth!" she called eagerly bending over her and stroking her
cheek tenderly. But her hope was short-lived. The eyelids remained
shut, and the child only breathed deeper than before. Nan's own heart
seemed to stop in her anxiety for Ruth. Suddenly she sprang to her
feet. Surely she had heard the rattle of wheels! Ever so far and
indistinct to be sure, but still unmistakably wheels, clattering over
some distant cobbles. She raised her voice and shouted; then held her
breath to listen. The clatter grew more distinct; it drew nearer and
nearer. She clambered up the fence and stood there waving her arms and
shouting as madly as if she had been a shipwrecked mariner sighting a
sail. She paused a moment to listen. The rattling wheels came nearer.
She shouted again and then waited, listening intently. The rattling
stopped. She set up a wild howl of dismay and kept it up till her ears
seemed on the point of splitting. But now the clatter of wheels had
begun again and she could see a milk cart rounding the corner of the
street. She gave a long, shrill whistle and leaped down and ran
frantically out into the road, straight for the horse's head.
It was a second or two before the astonished driver could be made to
understand, but when he did, he bounded out of his cart willingly
enough, vaulted over the fence and then bade Nan "stand hard" while he
lifted Ruth into her arms. Her weight was nothing to the brawny
fellow, and he had her safely stowed away on the seat of his cart, with
Nan crouching on the floor beside her and himself clinging to the step
outside, in less time than it takes to tell it.
Nan gave him the street and number in a trembling gasp of gratitude.
He eyed her narrowly, and then seemed to sum up his conclusion in a
low, keen whistle. Her hat was hanging by its elastic on her
shoulders; her hair was blown out of all order by the wind; her dress
was torn and her hands were bruised and none too clean. She had no
coat on, and her cheeks were flaming with cold and excitement. She was
an astonishing spectacle.
"Guess you're a sort of high-flyer, ain't you?" said he at last without
a sign of ill-nature.
Nan set her jaws and did not reply.
"Oh, well, I don't want to hurt your feelings. Only you look sorter
wild-like, you know, and as if your mother didn't know you was out."
Nan's teeth snapped. "I haven't got any mother," she returned curtly.
"She's dead."
The milkman looked uncomfortable. He shifted awkwardly from one foot
to the other and muttered something about being sorry. Then for some
time there was silence.
"That's the house," announced Nan at length, jumping to the step and
hanging to the rail above the dashboard. "That third one from the
corner, on this side. Please let me out first. I want to run ahead
and tell."
Almost before he could rein in his horse she was out on the pavement.
She flew to the area gate and pressed the bell with all her might. She
kept her finger on it, and the cook came flying to the door, looking
flushed and angry at the continuous ringing.
"Well, I might o' known," she said, eying Nan with unconcealed
disfavor. "Do you think a body's deaf that you ring like that?"
Nan flung back her head resentfully.
"Never mind what I think," she returned sharply. "Open the gate! Ruth
is sick! She got hurt! Some one's bringing her in. Quick!"
The gate was flung open with a bang, and the woman rushed out,
clutching Ruth from the milkman's arms and carrying her into the house,
muttering mingled caresses and abuse all the while; the caresses for
Ruth and the abuse for Nan.
The milkman turned on his heel and went his way unthanked, but by the
time he got to the outer gate Nan had recollected herself, and had
rushed after him, calling:
"Oh, please! I want to tell you--thank you ever so much!"
She was glad she had done it when she saw the gratified look on his
face. When she got back to the area gate it was shut. Mary the
chambermaid stood just inside it. She made no attempt to admit Nan.
She simply stood there and looked her over from head to toe.
"Well, you're a pretty piece!" she remarked.
"None of your business if I am," retorted Nan. "Let me in. I want to
see Mrs. Newton."
The maid took her hand from the knob and put it on her hip.
"Mrs. Newton don't want to see you, though, I guess," she returned.
"By this time Bridget's told her all she wants to know."
"But I must see her! I must tell her!" Nan insisted, stamping her
foot. "Bridget don't know anything about it. No one does but me. Let
me in, I say!"
The girl laughed.
"Well, I'll go upstairs and tell Mrs. Newton. Then, if she wants to
see you, she can," and she went inside and closed the door, leaving Nan
to stand shuddering in the cold outside. Presently she came back,
carrying the coat in her hands.
"Mrs. Newton says she hasn't time to see you now. She says she'll
attend to you later. She says she can guess how it happened, and that
if Ruth dies it'll be your fault. There, now, you know what's thought
of you, and you can put it in your pipe and smoke it, you great, rough
tomboy!"
The gate was thrust open a little way, the coat was flung out, and the
door slammed to again, and once more Nan found herself in the area way
alone. Burning tears of fury sprung to her eyes. She caught up her
despised coat and dashed wildly out of the gate in a perfect tempest of
anger and resentment.