CHAPTER XII

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.