Boarding School: Familiar conversations between a governess and her pupils.

by Augusta Huiell Seaman

  When Isabella and her champion arrived at the garden-gate, behold it waslocked! What was to be done was now the consideration.

  "We'll tell the truth at once," said the boy: "it may be blamed, but, asthe copy says, it never can be shamed. But don't look so down, Miss:never mind a bit of a thrashing! Father gives me many a one; but I neverflinch!"

  "If I am not afraid of that, I am afraid of Mrs. Adair looking serious;and not wishing me good-night. But do look and see if you can seemonitrix."

  "Monitrix! what, in the name of goodness, is that? Have you a great dogat school?"

  "O dear, no; I mean the lady who hears my lessons before I say them toMiss Adair."

  "Is that all!" The boy stepped on one side, and looked up at the house."No, I see nobody; there is not a creature in the windows. But I'll tellyou what, you shall stop here, and I'll go to the lady of the school.You shan't get anger, if I can help it; and I have helped it many a timeat our school, that the lads know, to my sorrow."

  The boy hastily ran to the front door, and rang the bell. In the meantime Isabella crept under the court railing to conceal herself. When theservant opened the door, he asked if the lady was in.

  "Do you mean my mistress?"

  "To be sure I do; the mistress of the school; and must see her in amoment."

  Mrs. Adair was passing through the hall; and made her appearance, with acountenance not a little forbidding.

  "What do you want with me?" she asked.

  "Only, madam," and here the boy hesitated; "I beg your pardon, madam;somehow, I have a little lady here: and I don't know what to do withher."

  "You mean something respecting one of my scholars; what is it? for I amat a loss to understand you."

  "Bless me! surely she's not run away!"

  The boy sprang to the gate, and quickly returned.

  "She is quite snug; I thought she had given me the slip. A great girl,ma'am, ran away with her. She did not come down to the pond of her ownfree good will. This is as true as truth is. She pulled, and the greatgirl pulled; but with all her might, madam, the little lady could notget away. So then I marched up to the big girl; and asked her whatbusiness she had with the little one? So she was angry and vexed with myragged coat; and made my face ring again: and I gave her a good hardblow in return, and ran off with little Miss. I looked up for MissMonitrix, but could not find her; so here she is, under the rails."

  This was all a puzzle to Mrs. Adair; but she stepped into the lane withthe boy, and there she saw Isabella, seated, in great trouble, upon astone. The affair was now explained. Isabella was taken to Elizabeth,with the assurance that no one would be angry with her; but that shemust not mention the affair to any person.

  Mrs. Adair now proposed going with the boy to his father's. There was anexpression of honest warmth in his countenance, which, in a moment,changed her own manner; and, as they were going down the lane, she askedhow far they were from his father's house.

  "'Tis but a cottage, madam. Grandmother says we were once well off inthe world; but things will go wrong some how or another: but I'll makegood what I wrote to-day."

  "And what was it, my good boy?"

  "Only to work while I am able, madam; and then when I am old, I willrest from my labour. But there is our cottage. I wish you could haveseen my own mother, for she was a nice woman. Don't you see that clumpof trees, and a barn with red tiles, and a little boy wheeling a barrow?That's my own brother, ma'am, and there's my father at the stile,looking about him."

  As they drew nearer the cottage, they saw the man and his son step overthe stile into the field, followed by a female.

  "Well, I declare," said the boy, "there is mother with her bonnet! Iwonder what they are all after! And there's grandmother come to thedoor!"

  He now called out: "Grandmother! here is the lady from the great school,coming to look for Miss."

  "Then I fear, madam, you are coming to look for what you will not find.Whilst my daughter went down to the pond, to the children, she slippedoff. My son thinks that the young lady is gone to London in one of thestage-coaches. If so, Tom, I fear thou wilt be well paid."

  "Ah, grandmother, that's nothing new! If my own mother was living, itwould not be so."

  "With your permission," said Mrs. Adair, as she entered the cottage, "Iwill take a seat till your daughter returns."

  "Certainly, madam; here is a comfortable seat. But we are not theneatest people in the world," said the old woman, as she took up achild's frock from the floor. Mrs. Adair looked round, and thought shehad never been in any place that had so little the appearance ofcomfort.

  The boy looked at her, and seemed to read her countenance.

  "It was not always so, madam: I remember we were once happy folks; butit was a sad day for Dick and I, when father's wife took place offather's love."

  "Thou shouldst think well of thy father's wife, and honour his choice.Stepmothers, child, have a hard task: they cannot please, do what theywill."

  "Grandmother," said the boy, "kindness makes kindness, all the worldover. But, come what will, when uncle comes home, Dick and I will go toPlymouth, if we walk barefoot. I am sure he would break his heart, if hehad not me to fight his battles; but I will never forsake him by land orby sea."

  "Go to the children, and take care of them," said the old woman.

  "And come to my house at four o'clock on Saturday afternoon, and ask forMrs. Adair."

  The boy made a bow in a blunt manner; but, as he waved his hand inpassing her, she thought there was an appearance of good breeding, thatwould not have disgraced a boy in a much higher sphere.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  Mrs. Adair waited a considerable time in the cottage, and then returnedhome without receiving any satisfactory account of her pupil. All thatshe could learn was, that a little girl in a green bonnet had been seenstepping into a stage-coach. As coaches were continually passing the endof the village, she knew it was in vain making further inquiries. Shewrote, however, immediately to Mr. Bruce, and sent a messenger with theletter, that he might meet them in town.

  It has been observed, that Miss Bruce, in most cases, acted withoutreflection. The idea that she had done wrong did not strike her withfull force, until the carriage in which she had placed herself arrivedin London: the lights from the lamps, however, seemed to throw lightupon her thoughts. When the coach stopped at the inn, the bustle ofpeople gathering their luggage together, the idea that she did not knowthe road to her father's house, the certainty that she had acted in avery foolish manner, and fear of the reception from her father, excitedmany disagreeable thoughts. She was seated in a corner of the coach, ata loss how to proceed, when the coachman came to the door. "Miss," saidhe "won't you alight? perhaps you are waiting for somebody?"

  "I will thank you to take me home," and this was said in a very humbletone.

  The man whistled at the request. "I don't know, Miss, whether I can orno. Did not your friends know that you were coming? But now I think ofit, you seemed in a fright when you got into the coach: what, was yourunning away, Miss?"

  Vexed at the question, Miss Bruce quickly answered, "I am going to seemy papa. I have business with him."

  "Well, your business is not mine, Miss; but somehow, I think you havebeen cheating your schoolmistress. But come your way, till I can see forsomebody to go with you."

  I only wish some of my young readers could have seen Miss Bruce, howsimple she looked when she followed the coachman into the inn. Shewished to be at school, and with Miss Damer again--but it was then toolate.

  And here I would advise young people to beware of the first wrong step,for it generally leads to trouble and mortification, and often todisgrace.

  Miss Bruce stood some time unnoticed at the entrance of a large room,partitioned into boxes. Waiters and travellers just looked at the younglady, and then passed on: people were too much engaged, with dishes,papers, packages, and glasses, to attend to the little stranger.

  At length, however, one solitary gentleman, who perhaps
had daughtersof his own, took compassion upon the forlorn traveller.

  "Come hither, my dear, and sit by me."

  Miss Bruce gladly accepted the offer, for she was a strange figure for astage coach passenger. Her white frock was rumpled, and in a sad statefrom the blow she had received; the tippet was in the same style; herold green silk garden bonnet hung half off her head. One of her longsleeves she had untied from her tippet, and taken it off; the otherremained. Garden gloves, cut at the fingers, completed the dress. Thusneatly attired, in an hour and ten minutes after her arrival in Londonshe was ushered by a new footman into her father's study, where he wasseated reading a pamphlet. In a moment he turned the book open upon thetable, raised one of the candlesticks above his head, and with a keensatirical look exclaimed, "what runaway is this?"

  "Papa, it is I!" This was said in a very trembling accent.

  "And pray who is I, that comes thus attired, and unasked at thisunseasonable hour? Only wants three minutes of eleven," said Mr. Bruceas he fixed his eyes upon the time-piece. "With whom did you travel?"

  "With a little boy, and a great man, papa, and a little woman, with ababy and a lapdog."

  As Miss Bruce was speaking, she would have given a trifle to have beenat school again.

  "A goodly company indeed, young lady! By this I conclude that you havedisgraced yourself! Sit here" (pointing to a chair behind the door); "itis the only place for idle, thoughtless truants. And now give a reasonfor your conduct: But there is no reason, with foolish, giddy girls! Iwill have every word correct: no varnishing, or lies."

  After much hesitation, and many tears, Miss Bruce went through the wholeof her story. While she was speaking, her father seemed lost in thought.No sooner had she finished, but he started from his chair, and with hiseyes fixed upon the floor, walked some time from one end of the studyto the other. He then stopped, and looked sternly at his daughter."And so you have been trying your skill at boxing! An admirableaccomplishment for a young lady! You have taken upon yourself to berude to your school companion; to be ungrateful to Mrs. Adair, andventured to ride ten miles in a stage-coach! And in what a dress! Youare indeed an enterprizing young lady! Now let me tell you, Miss Bruce,one simple truth: you have acted in all things contrary to that whichyou know is right. But pray what is the meaning of the word right?"

  "To do all things that I know I should do; I do not know any thing more,papa; indeed I do not."

  "You know the right, but a perverse and wilful disposition leads you todo wrong."

  Mr. Bruce rang the bell, and ordered the housekeeper into his presence.When she entered the room, he commanded her to close the door. "Take mydaughter," said he, "to the chamber that was occupied last night. Youare not to speak to her, nor allow any servant in the house to do so.Give her a little bread and milk: go, child."

  "Papa,"--here Miss Bruce sobbed; and would have added, "O, do forgiveme!" but her father sternly bade her leave him.

  Mr. Bruce looked at his daughter when she was asleep. He heard hermurmuring and intreating; and listened to words that affected himdeeply. He sat down by her bed-side until she was tranquil: and whetherhe shed tears of tenderness over her is best known to himself; but thefollowing morning, though his feelings were softened, his countenancewas equally stern. His carriage was at the door; and at ten o'clock heand his daughter arrived at Mrs. Adair's. Neither at breakfast norduring the ride had he uttered one word. "Madam," said he, the moment hebeheld the mistress of his child, "I have brought a runaway. I will notmake an apology for her conduct: it is not in my way; it rests entirelywith yourself whether she will be accepted or rejected. Providence, inthe justness of his ways, has deprived her of an excellent mother. Howfar servants are capable of giving right ideas of female decorum, youare yourself to judge. When I fixed Margaret with you, it was not toeducation alone that I looked; my views and hopes extended toprinciples, temper, and conduct. The mere mechanical parts of educationmay at all times be purchased for money; automatons may be made toperform wonders. But we all know that something more is wanting to givesolidity and consequence to character. If you refuse my daughter, shewill lose her best friend."

  "Not another word, Sir, on the subject; I still expect to make somethingof this little girl. She is rash, careless, and perhaps a littlemischievous: but I am not without hope; and past grievances we will nowforget. Go," said Mrs. Adair, turning to her pupil, "bring a frock tome; remember I pardon you now, but I shall never do so again; and takecare that you do not tell any person that you ran away, and were sofoolish.--It is well she is my god-daughter, and my namesake," said Mrs.Adair, as her pupil crossed the hall: then, addressing Mr. Bruce, sheadded, "Depend upon my word, Sir; I will be the friend of your daughterin remembrance of her mother; this is the strongest claim upon myattention; far more so than that of a name."

  "I bless you again and again for your kindness," said Mr. Bruce withwarmth. "I have now no fears for Margaret; she must remain with you,until you can say, 'your daughter is now all I can desire.'"

  "This is exacting too much; 'all that you can desire,' is beyond mypower to make her; but I will try to make her a comfort to you. I havegood ground to work upon, and I hope you will have reason to think, thatI have not neglected the soil."

  As Mr. Bruce was returning to his carriage, his daughter, who wasdescending the stairs with a clean frock, flew to him, exclaiming, "dosay you forgive me! I will never vex you again; O, dear papa, say youwill but forgive me."

  "Well, child, I do forgive you."

  "O, how good and kind you are! I will never forget it. But, dear papa,won't you say something more?"

  "God bless you, child! and may he always bless you."

  Mr. Bruce hastened to the carriage, drew up the window, and the boydrove off. Tears streamed from Miss Bruce's eyes; "O, that papa wouldbut have given me one kiss, I should have been so happy!"

  "If you are good," said Mrs. Adair, "when next he sees you he will giveyou two."

  CHAPTER XIX.

  The time had arrived for Miss Damer to go into a private family as agoverness: all the young ladies were anxious to give her a proof ofremembrance, and these tokens of esteem had chiefly been the work ofleisure hours.

  As Miss Damer was collecting her painted boxes, velvet bags, and all herlittle presents together, she thought, "who can say that there is nokindness or friendship in the world? I have been in sorrow, perhaps fora good purpose; at least, it has shewn me the disinterested regard ofothers."

  While similar reflections were passing in her mind, Miss Arden hastilyentered the chamber, and stepping towards her, abruptly put into herhand a small parcel. "I have not a moment to speak to you," sheexclaimed, with tears in her eyes, "I cannot for the world take a formalfarewell; so when you leave us do not notice me: God bless you, Damer!"and she hurried out of the room.

  Miss Damer looked at the parcel with a countenance of sorrow, and as sheopened it a note dropped upon the floor; she took it up, and read thepaper she held in her hand.

  "Accept these notes, my dear Damer, they are all that I have been able to save from my scanty allowance; remit them to your father, whose troubles I know have grieved you, and when I can I will send you more. In fourteen months I shall be my own mistress. How joyfully do I anticipate the time! Then, my dear Damer, I shall have a home to offer you, and a purse to relieve every care, as far as wealth can go. Farewell, my kind friend; you and Mrs. Adair have all my affections in this world.

  "ANN ARDEN."

  * * * * *

  As young people are always anxious to learn the destination of thecharacters in the book they have been perusing,--in closing this littlework, I will give you a short sketch of those I have attempted todelineate. And here let me observe, that the incidents are chieflydrawn from facts.

  The name of one of the principal characters was given, by the desire ofa young friend, two days before her death.

  Miss Russel has lost her parents, and is wandering upon th
e Continent,as companion or friend to a lady well known in the fashionable world.

  Miss Vincent is removed from her family by her marriage to a gentlemanof consequence in Ireland. She is still the same character, haughty andinsolent.

  Her sister Isabella, is improving in all the graces of mind and person;she is the general favourite of the school.

  Miss Bruce is becoming all that her father can desire.

  When Miss Damer went into the situation as a governess, it was with thehope of remaining some time, perhaps years. We can easily fix our plans,but we are strangers to the future; it is not for us to say by whatmeans they are to be frustrated. When Miss Damer had been two months agoverness, she was told by the gentleman's sister in whose family shewas placed, that several friends were to dine with them, and she beggedthat she would join their party. On that day she attracted the notice ofa gentleman who was one of the guests. When she entered thedrawing-room, and he heard her name announced, he turned quickly to lookat her; he beheld the same dark pensive eyes, the same noble features,and modest, dignified manner, which seventeen years before had struckhim in another. But it was not her personal appearance altogether thatinterested him: it was the character that had been given of her by Mrs.Adair; and the remembrance of his feelings, when his daughter in hertroubled sleep exclaimed, "O, my dear Miss Damer, do come to me! Papathen won't punish me, you are so like mamma!"

  But I will not prolong this subject; I have only to add, that Miss Dameris the happy wife of Mr. Bruce; and that few persons are more attachedto each other than the mother and the daughter Mr. Bruce, though severalyears older than his wife, was exactly the person calculated to makeher happy, being a man of excellent character and good sense; givingpart of his time to the world, but considering home the chief place forhappiness.