“They haven’t mentioned terms, but I’m sure they will be satisfactory—­give you what you ask, in fact.” (Rather a nice trait in their character, this.)—­“Now, will you—­um—­take it?  They want somebody at once.”

“Yes,” I reply; “I’ll go and see how I fancy it.  Have they got a billiard-table, do you happen to know?”

The President says, “he doesn’t know anything about that,” and looks a little surprised, as if I had proposed a game of skittles.

On way down (next day) I feel rather like a Governess going to her first situation.  Get to house late.  Too dark to see what it’s like.  Have to drive up in a village fly. Query—­Oughtn’t they to have sent their carriage for me?

My reception is peculiar.  A stout, masculine-looking female with a strident voice, is presumably Mrs. BRISTOL MERCHANT.

Sends me up to my bed-room as if I were my own luggage.  Evidently very “uncultivated.”

In my bed-room.  Above are the sounds of a small pandemonium, apparently.  Stamping, falling, shouting, bumping, crying.  What a lot of them there must be!

There are!  At supper—­they appear to have early dinners, which I detest—­three boys and one girl present, as a sample.  Eldest a youth about ten, who puts out his tongue at me, when he thinks I’m not looking, and kicks his brothers beneath the table to make them cry, which they do.  I begin to wonder when my real pupil will appear.

Governess talks to me as if I were a brother professional. Query—­infra dig. again?

Children, being forbidden to talk in anything but French at meals, say nothing at all; at the end I am astounded at Materfamilias catching hold of the boy of ten, and bringing him round to me, with the remark,—­

“Perhaps you’d like to talk to ERNIE about lessons.”

Heavens!  This nursery fledgling to be my pupil!  And I am to be his “companion”!  Fledgling, while standing in front of me for inspection, has the audacity to stretch out his leg, and trip up a little sister who is passing.  Howls ensue.

A nicely-mannered youth!

“You will have to behave yourself with me, young man!” I warn him, in a tone which ought to abash him, but doesn’t in the least.

“Ah, but perhaps you won’t stay here long,” is his rather able rejoinder.  “Our Governesses never—­”

“ERNIE!” shrieks his mother, threateningly.  ERNIE stops; and I have time to regret my folly in not inquiring of the President the precise age of my promising disciple, very likely President didn’t know himself.

The other boys who were at supper are now presented to me.  One is about eight, the other not more than six.

“These are HERBIE and JACK,” says their mother, who ought to know.  Thank Heaven, they are not my pupils!

Mrs. BRISTOL MERCHANT horrifies me by saying—­

“I thought it would be so nice, when you were teaching ERNIE, if HERBIE and JACK could be taught too! And after lessons you will be able to take them such nice long walks in the neighbourhood!  It’s really very pretty country, Mr.—­I forget your name.”