style="font-size:15px;"> Annie and David were going on steadily hand in hand a little way off; and Miss Fosbrook chiefly heard the talk of the boys, who had fallen behind; perhaps her ears were quickened by its personality, for though Sam was saying, “I’ll tell you what, she’s a famous fellow!” the rejoinder was, “What! do you mean to say that you mind her?”
“Doesn’t he?” said Hal’s voice; “why, she sent him away from tea last night, just for shying crusts.”
“And did he go?” and there was a disagreeable sounding laugh, in which she was sorry that Hal joined.
“Catch the Fräulein serving me so!”
“She never tries!”
“She knows better!”
“I say, Sam, I thought you had more spirit. You’ll be sitting up pricking holes in a frill by the time the Captain comes back.”
“And Hal will be mincing along with his toes turned out like a dancing-master!” continued an affected voice.
“No such thing!” cried Hal angrily: “I’m not a fellow to be ordered about!”
The Grevilles laughed; and one of them said, “Well, then, why don’t you show it? I’d soon send her to the right-about if she tried to interfere with me!”
Miss Fosbrook could bear it no longer; and facing suddenly round, looked the speaker full in the face, and said, “I am very much obliged to you—but you should not speak quite so loud.”
The boys shrank back out of countenance; and Sam, who alone had not spoken, looked up into her face with a merry air, as if he were gratified by her spirited way of discomfiting them.
Osmond tried to recover, and muttered, “What a sell!” rather impudently; but they were now near the churchyard, and Mrs. Greville turning round, all was hushed.
Christabel felt much vexed that all this should have happened just before going into church; she felt a good deal ruffled herself, and feared that Bessie’s head was filled with nonsense, if Hal’s were not with something worse.
The church looked pretty outside, with the old weather-boarded wooden belfry rising above the tiled roof and western gable; and it was neatly kept but not pretty within, the walls all done over with pale buff wash, and the wood-work very clumsy. Sam and Susan behaved well and attentively; but Bessie fidgeted into her mamma’s place, and would stand upon a hassock. Miss Fosbrook was much afraid it was to keep in sight of the beautiful bird. Hal yawned; and Johnnie not only fidgeted unbearably himself, but made his sister Annie do the same, till Miss Fosbrook scarcely felt as if she was at church, and made up her mind to tell Johnnie that she should leave him at home with the babies unless he changed his ways. Little David went on most steadily with his Prayer-Book, and scarcely looked off it till the sermon, when he fell asleep.
Miss Fosbrook had one pleasure as she was going home. The children had all gone on some steps before her, chattering eagerly among themselves, when Sam turned back and said abruptly, “Miss Fosbrook, you didn’t mind that, I hope?”
“What those boys were saying? It depends on you whether you make me mind it.”
“I don’t mean to make any rows if I can help it,” said Sam.
“I am sure I hope you will be able to help it! I don’t know what I should do if you did!”
Sam gave an odd smile with his honest face. “Well, you’ve got a good spirit of your own. It would take something to cow you.”
“Pray don’t try!”
Sam laughed, and said, “I did promise Papa to be conformable.”
“And I was very much obliged to you yesterday evening. The behaviour of the other boys depends so much on you.”
“Yes, I know,” said Sam; “and I don’t mind it so much now I see you can stand up for yourself.”
“Besides, what would it be if I had to write to your father that I could not manage such a bear-garden?”
“I’ll take care that sha’n’t happen,” exclaimed Sam. “It would hinder all the good to Mamma! I’ll tell you what,” he added, after a confidential pause, “if we get beyond you, there’s Mr. Carey.”
“I thought you did not mean to get beyond me.”
Sam looked a little disconcerted, and it struck her that, though he would not say so, he was doubtful whether the Greville influence might not render Henry unmanageable; but he quickly gave it another turn. “Only you must not plague us about London manners.”
“I don’t know what you mean by London manners. Do you mean not bawling at tea? for I mean to insist upon that, I assure you, and I want you to help me.”
“Oh! not being finikin, and mincing, and nonsensical!”
“I hope I’m not so!” said Miss Fosbrook, laughing heartily; “but I’ll tell you one thing, Sam, that I do wish you would leave off—and that is teazing. I don’t know whether that is country manners, but I don’t like to see a sensible kind fellow like you just go out of your way to say something mortifying to a younger one.”
“You don’t know,” said Sam. “It is fun. They like it.”
“If they really like it, there is no objection. I know I should like very much to have my brother here quizzing me; but you know very well there are two sorts of such fun, and one that is only sport to the stronger side.”
“Bessie is so ridiculous.”
“She is the very one I want to protect. I don’t think that teazing her does any good; it only gives her cross feelings. And she really has more right on her side than you think. You might be just as honest and bold if you were less rude and bearish.”
“I can’t bear to see her so affected and perked up.”
“It is not affectation. She is really more gentle and quiet than you are; you don’t think it so in your Mamma, and she is like her.”
“Mamma is not like Bessie.”
“And then about Davy. How could you go and stop the poor little boy when he was trying to think and feel rightly?”
“He was so funny,” repeated Sam.
“I hope you will think another time whether your fun is safe and kind.”
“One can’t be so particular,” he said impatiently.
“I am sorry to hear it. I thought the only way to do right was to be particular.”
He grunted, and flung away from her. She was vexed to have sent him off in such a mood; but, unmannerly as he was, she saw so much good in him, that she could not but hope he would be her friend and ally.
Dinner went off very peaceably, and then Susan fetched her two darlings from the nursery, George and Sarah, of three years and eighteen months old. Her great perfection was as a motherly elder sister; and even Sam was gentle to these little things, and played with them very nicely.
Miss
