afford to keep both, and it was better for the children to keep the country-house, and that here on the river it would be easy to get to town.  I’m extravagantly fond of going to the theatre and opera, and have had in a great measure to relinquish it.  I went even when I was in mourning:  the doctors said I must be amused.  We’ll go sometimes this winter together,” she added coaxingly.  “Well, now, Miss Featherstone, as to your role of governess:  I don’t feel as if you were to be anything but my nice new friend, you were so kind last night to my dear little Harry.  You teach the common English branches and the rudiments of Latin, French and music?  Mr. Brown—­is it not an odd name for such a thorough Frenchman? but his father was English, although he was born and educated in France—­Mr. Brown teaches them Latin and French at present, but I don’t know how long I shall keep him; so you’ll be relieved of that.  I shall want you to act as a friend in the household—­I’m so much of an invalid—­sit at the head of the table occasionally, and give orders to the servants.”

Miss Featherstone looked slightly perplexed.  Her duties as governess were mingling in a distracting manner with those of housekeeper.

“The children are so young,” Mrs. Pinckney said apologetically, “they can’t be kept at their lessons from morning till night.  Rose is eleven, Alfred nine, Dick seven.  Harry might possibly learn his alphabet, but I doubt it.  You can arrange the hours and studies to suit yourself; and I want you to govern and manage the children—­relieve me in that way as much as possible.  I hope you’ll be very comfortable and happy in my house, Miss Featherstone.  If there is anything out of the way in your room or anywhere else, let me know.  I’m sure we shall be good friends;” and with a hearty, affectionate kiss she dismissed the governess.

As Miss Featherstone descended the stairs she met Doctor Harris, gallant and gay, with a rose in his buttonhole, followed by the nurse and child, on a visit of reassurance to the fair mother.

Nothing is truer than that homely old proverb, “The lame and the lazy are always provided for;” and Mrs. Pinckney was provided for effectually when she lit upon Miss Featherstone.  Just before Christmas the governess was summoned to an interview with Mrs. Pinckney, who was, as usual, in bed:  “Oh, my dear Miss Featherstone, I’m in despair—­ill again.  Christmas coming, and my husband’s brother, Colonel Pinckney, is on his way to make us a visit.  If there’s any one I feel nervous and fidgety before, it is Colonel Pinckney:  he seems to look you through and see all your faults and weaknesses:  at least, he does mine, and he makes me see them too, which I don’t like one bit.  I do the best I can:  I’m in such miserable health, and have had so much to break me down.  Did you ever know any one, dear Miss Featherstone, who had had so much trouble?—­my husband’s death and all.”