Miss Eyre listened in silence, perplexed but determined to be obedient to the directions of the doctor, whose kindness she and her family had good cause to know.  She made strong tea; she helped the young men liberally in Mr. Gibson’s absence, as well as in his presence, and she found the way to unloosen their tongues, whenever their master was away, by talking to them on trivial subjects in her pleasant homely way.  She taught Molly to read and write, but tried honestly to keep her back in every other branch of education.  It was only by fighting and struggling hard, that bit by bit Molly persuaded her father to let her have French and drawing lessons.  He was always afraid of her becoming too much educated, though he need not have been alarmed; the masters who visited such small country towns as Hollingford forty years ago, were no such great proficients in their arts.  Once a week she joined a dancing class in the assembly-room at the principal inn in the town:  the ‘George;’ and, being daunted by her father in every intellectual attempt, she read every book that came in her way, almost with as much delight as if it had been forbidden.  For his station in life, Mr. Gibson had an unusually good library; the medical portion of it was inaccessible to Molly, being kept in the surgery, but every other book she had either read, or tried to read.  Her summer place of study was that seat in the cherry-tree, where she got the green stains on her frock, that have already been mentioned as likely to wear Betty’s life out.  In spite of this ‘hidden worm i’ th’ bud,’ Betty was to all appearance strong, alert, and flourishing.  She was the one crook in Miss Eyre’s lot, who was otherwise so happy in having met with a suitable well-paid employment just when she needed it most.  But Betty, though agreeing in theory with her master when he told her of the necessity of having a governess for his little daughter, was vehemently opposed to any division of her authority and influence over the child who had been her charge, her plague, and her delight ever since Mrs. Gibson’s death.  She took up her position as censor of all Miss Eyre’s sayings and doings from the very first, and did not for a moment condescend to conceal her disapprobation.  In her heart, she could not help respecting the patience and painstaking of the good lady,—­for a ‘lady’ Miss Eyre was in the best sense of the word, though in Hollingford she only took rank as a shopkeeper’s daughter.  Yet Betty buzzed about her with the teasing pertinacity of a gnat, always ready to find fault, if not to bite.  Miss Eyre’s only defence came from the quarter whence it might least have been expected—­from her pupil; on whose fancied behalf, as an oppressed little personage, Betty always based her attacks.  But very early in the day Molly perceived their injustice, and soon afterwards she began to respect Miss Eyre for her silent endurance of what evidently gave her far more pain than Betty imagined.  Mr. Gibson had been a friend in need