“I feel that I am not able to cope with the problem of Betty’s education, Stephen,” she admitted, “Betty is a strange child...all Churchill.  Her poor father indulged her in everything, and she has a will of her own, I assure you.  I have really no control over her, whatever.  She does as she pleases, and is ruining her complexion by running and galloping out of doors the whole time.  Not that she had much complexion to start with.  The Churchills never had, you know."...Sara cast a complacent glance at her delicately tinted reflection in the mirror....  “I tried to make Betty wear a sunbonnet this summer, but I might as well have talked to the wind.”

A vision of Betty in a sunbonnet presented itself to my mind, and afforded me so much amusement that I was grateful to Sara for having furnished it.  I rewarded her with a compliment.

“It is to be regretted that Betty has not inherited her mother’s charming color,” I said, “but we must do the best we can for her under her limitations.  She may have improved vastly by the time she has grown up.  And, at least, we must make a lady of her; she is a most alarming tomboy at present, but there is good material to work upon...there must be, in the Churchill and Currie blend.  But even the best material may be spoiled by unwise handling.  I think I can promise you that I will not spoil it.  I feel that Betty is my vocation; and I shall set myself up as a rival of Wordsworth’s ‘nature,’ of whose methods I have always had a decided distrust, in spite of his insidious verses.”

Sara did not understand me in the least; but, then, she did not pretend to.

“I confide Betty’s education entirely to you, Stephen,” she said, with another plaintive sigh.  “I feel sure I could not put it into better hands.  You have always been a person who could be thoroughly depended on.”

Well, that was something by way of reward for a life-long devotion.  I felt that I was satisfied with my position as unofficial advisor-in-chief to Sara and self-appointed guardian of Betty.  I also felt that, for the furtherance of the cause I had taken to heart, it was a good thing that Sara had again refused to marry me.  I had a sixth sense which informed me that a staid old family friend might succeed with Betty where a stepfather would have signally failed.  Betty’s loyalty to her father’s memory was passionate, and vehement; she would view his supplanter with resentment and distrust; but his old familiar comrade was a person to be taken to her heart.

Fortunately for the success of my enterprise, Betty liked me.  She told me this with the same engaging candor she would have used in informing me that she hated me, if she had happened to take a bias in that direction, saying frankly: 

“You are one of the very nicest old folks I know, Stephen.  Yes, you are a ripping good fellow!”

This made my task a comparatively easy one; I sometimes shudder to think what it might have been if Betty had not thought I was a “ripping good fellow.”  I should have stuck to it, because that is my way; but Betty would have made my life a misery to me.  She had startling capacities for tormenting people when she chose to exert them; I certainly should not have liked to be numbered among Betty’s foes.