Aunt Kitty's Tales

by Madame Guizot

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE YOUNG TEACHER.

  The first Saturday after my arrival at Hazel Grove, I found, afterbreakfast, that Clara, instead of getting her books, as usual, producedsome colored silks and a frame for embroidery, in which was an apronwith a border of beautifully shaded white, pink, and crimson rose-buds,just commenced. At the same time, Grace brought out her paints andbrushes and an unfinished flower-piece, which showed both great taste inits design and great care in its execution. These things were laid onthe table, and then these two girls seemed to have nothing to do but towatch for the arrival of some one whom they evidently expected withimpatience. At length Clara cried out, "I see her, Grace--there she is."

  I looked and saw, still at a distance from the house, the figure of agirl apparently not older than those who were so anxiously expectingher. She carried a portfolio under her arm, and walked with a quick,buoyant step, which showed that she was both well and cheerful.

  "Who is that?" said I to Grace.

  "Cecille L'Estrange, ma'am," she replied.

  "And is she coming to take lessons with you?"

  "No, ma'am," she said, smiling, "she is coming to teach us."

  "To teach you!" I exclaimed, with surprise, "why, she is a child, likeyourselves. What can she teach you?"

  "Oh! a great deal more than we have time to learn," said Clara, whileGrace added,

  "She is two years older than Clara and I,--she is thirteen."

  I had no time to ask farther questions, for Cecille was at the door. Sheentered smiling, and said, "Ah! you wait for me--but I am punctual, itis just the time," pointing to a clock on the mantelpiece, which saidexactly nine o'clock. As she spoke, her eye turning towards that part ofthe room where I was sitting, she colored, and looked down. Grace, whoalways seemed thoughtful of the comfort of others, saw this littleembarrassment, and introduced her to me.

  Either this introduction, or something in my manner to her, set herquite at her ease; and when I asked if I should be in their way, it waswith a very sweet, engaging smile that she replied, "Oh no, indeed! Ishould very much like to have you stay, if you please."

  Before I say any thing more of Cecille L'Estrange, it will, perhaps, bebest to tell my young readers, that she was a French girl, andtherefore, though she understood English perfectly well, and spoke itbetter than most foreigners do, she sometimes expressed herself in adifferent manner from what an English person or an American would havedone: and when she was very much excited from any cause, either pleasantor painful, she would bring in a French word here and there, withoutseeming to notice, or even to know it herself. These words, however, Iwill always translate into English for you.

  I had nothing to do for some time but to watch my companions as they satbusily engaged, and their silence only broken now and then by adirection from their young instructress. Seldom have I seen any one whointerested me more than this young instructress. Now that I saw her morenearly, I still thought that she did not look older than Clara or Grace;indeed, she was smaller than either of them. Her features, too, weresmall; and though, when quite still, there was an earnest, graveexpression in her face, when she spoke or smiled, it was lighted up withsuch animation and gayety that she seemed like a playful child. Iwatched her very earnestly, for there was something about her which mademe think, that young as she was, and cheerful as she now appeared, shehad felt sorrow and trial. At one time, in moving some things whichstood on the table out of Clara's way, she took up a small bronze figureof Napoleon Bonaparte. She did not put this down immediately, butcontinued to hold it and look at it, till her countenance grew very sad,and she sighed heavily. Just then, Grace, having put the finishing touchto a splendid rose, placed the piece before her eyes without speaking.In an instant all sadness was gone from her face, and, clapping herhands together, she exclaimed, in French, "What a beautiful flower!"then, laughing at her own forgetfulness, added, in English, "It isbeautiful! is it not, madam?" showing it to me as she spoke.

  It was beautiful, and I praised it as it deserved.

  A few minutes after this, Cecille, glancing at the clock, started up,exclaiming, "I must go, it is after eleven!"

  "Wait five minutes," said Clara, "and just show me how to put in thatlast shade, and I will soon finish this corner."

  Cecille looked distressed, turned her eyes from the work to the clock,took the needle from Clara's fingers, and then dropping it, said, "Iwill come back this afternoon, and show you; but you must let me go now.I told my grandmamma that I would come back to her at half-past eleven.I shall just have the time now to get home before that; and if I staylonger she will be frightened for me."

  She took up her portfolio, courtesied to me, bade the girls good-by,again assuring Clara that she would come back, and in less than twominutes was out of sight.

  "I am sorry," said Clara, as she was putting up her work, "that I askedher to show me any more to-day, for now she will take that long,tiresome walk back again."

  "Besides, Clara," said Grace, "you know she is always at work when sheis at home, and she will lose so much time coming twice to-day."

  "Well, I am sure, Grace," said Clara, reddening at what seemed to her areproach, "I did not ask her to come again, and I can do no more than besorry for it now."

  "Yes, we can do something more," said Grace, "we can walk over afterdinner and tell her not to come."

  "So we can and so we will," said Clara, relieved at once by seeing thatshe could do something to remedy the evil.