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[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.--NO. 989.]       DECEMBER 10, 1898.       [PRICE ONE PENNY.]

[Illustration: IN DREAMLAND.]

_All rights reserved._]




“OUR HERO.”

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the
Dower House,” etc.


CHAPTER XI.

THE FRENCH FLEET SIGNALLED.

Mrs. Bryce could seldom be happy for long together in one place. Before
the end of September she had decided to quit Folkestone for Sandgate.
Polly, nothing loath, chimed in with the plan eagerly; and Mr. Bryce,
whatever he thought or wished, made no objection.

“If Buonaparte should come, my dear, what then?” was all that he
ventured to suggest; and Mrs. Bryce snapped her fingers, not at him,
but at the First Consul.

“Let him come, if he will. Pray, my dear, do you consider that we are
bound to shape our course with a view to pleasing old Nap?” demanded
the vivacious lady.

Mr. Bryce disclaimed any such meaning. He wondered privately what his
wife’s feelings would be, if one day a round shot from a French ship
should rush through the room in which she might be seated. But in that
respect Sandgate was no worse than Folkestone; and since he never
expected logic from his wife, he made no effort to convince her that
she might be in the wrong.

To Sandgate therefore they went, on a rainy autumn day, when the sea
wailed dismally, and the wind howled more dismally still, and the
lodgings which Mr. Bryce had managed to secure wore an aspect most
dismal of all. Even Mrs. Bryce’s spirits were affected by the state of
the atmosphere.

Books in their possession were few, and had all been read. Jack failed
to appear so soon as they had expected. Mr. Bryce sallied forth,
despite the rain, but the ladies could not think of following his
example. Mrs. Bryce, in despair, turned to one or two old volumes of
the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, lying in a corner, and in so doing, to her
gratification, she fished out two or three recent numbers of the same
serial, including the current number for September, 1803.

“Ah, ha, my dear Polly, now we shall do!” she declared cheerfully. “Now
we may defy the elements, and you shall get on with your purse-netting,
and I will find something to read aloud for your entertainment. I
wonder much that Jack does not come.”

“Jack is busy, or he would be here,” Polly said confidently. Just as
she had her half-netted blue silk purse nicely arranged between foot
and knee, Mr. Bryce walked in, carrying letters, at the sight of which
Polly dropped her work and started up.

“Nay, not from France. Nothing from France,” Mr. Bryce said, with quick
understanding; and Polly returned to her seat languidly. “One from Bath
for you, and one from Norfolk for my wife. Two letters in a day! You
may count yourselves fortunate.”

Mr. Bryce disappeared anew, and Polly remarked--

“My grandmother has written to me.”

“Read it aloud, Polly. ’Twill serve before the magazine,” quoth Mrs.
Bryce; and Polly complied, looking ahead, lest she should stumble upon
any sentence meant only for herself. The letter[1] ran as follows:--

    “Bath. Oct. 28; 1803.

“MY DEAR POLLY,--Yours to Molly has very seriously disquieted my mind,
I assure you. If General Moore, with his g^{t} experience, considers
that the French landing may be apprehended as likely soon to Take
Place, ’tis sure the height of imprudence for you to remain in that
neighbourhood, where the French Army, if it lands, will doubtless
Pillage and Burn to the best of their Ability.

“Nor does it appear to me, my dear Polly, that you will be greatly
the better off in Lon^{n}, where certainly the Invading Army will
immediately march, so soon as it has effected a Landing.

“I am therefore about to Propose what seems to me the wiser plan for
all concerned. Which is, that you and Mrs. Bryce shou’d return again to
Bath, without Delay, leaving Mr. Bryce, as Dou’tless he will desire, to
take his proper share in the Defence of our Country. If Mrs. Bryce be
willing to act according to this plan. I most gladly offer to her such
Humble Accommodation as is in my power to bestow. The aspect of affairs
is truly Alarming; and if it be seriously apprehended that Lon^{n} is
like to be in greater danger of Bustle and Trouble than Bath, there
is no Necessity for you all to remain in that part of England. If
Mrs. Bryce can dispense for awhile with the Good Table, to which she
is used, and can put up with more Humble Fare, then every friendly
Accommodation in my power is at her Service.

“Last Saturday there appear’d before the Market Place forty-three
Blacks, who said they had been prisoners to the french, but had been
retaken, and were come to offer themselves volunteers to King George.
The Countrymen stared at them, and the women cried out upon them for
ugly creatures. The next morning here arrived a coach-full of the same
colour. They are all sent to Marlborough, how to be disposed of I don’t
know.

“My love to Jack, who I hope will not be spoiled by his many
friends--alas, too frequently the case in these days of scarcity of
Good Young Men. Molly is well and behaves herself.

“Bath, it is expected, will soon be crowded with Irish Company. A great
many large houses were engaged last week. The Bristol people think
that, were the french to effect a landing on some of the Welsh coasts,
they might soon expect to be troubled with them there and at Bath.
Several meetings have been held on this subject. But ’tis the opinion
of most that Lon^{n} lies in greater danger.

“Yesterday was a solemn day for humiliation. The places of worship were
well attended; and the Clergy here exerted themselves, I trust, to the
best of their Abilities.

“May God avert from old England so great a Calamity as the presence of
an Enemy on her Soil.

“Adieu. Your affectionate Grandmother,

    “C. FAIRBANK.”

Mrs. Bryce listened attentively, and pronounced the writer’s mode of
expression to be “vastly old-fashioned.”

“But when you write, you may thank her all the same, Polly. Mrs.
Fairbank means kindly, and if I thought old Nap would come in
truth--but ’tis all bluster and empty boasting. For my part, I put no
sort of belief in no invasion of our shores. But you may tell her that
I am most sincerely grateful, and that, should occasion arise, I will
not fail to avail myself of her generous hospitality.”

With which Mrs. Bryce settled herself comfortably in an apology for an
easy-chair--real easy-chairs had not yet been evolved--and read her own
letter.

“From my cousin in Norfolk. And if you’ll believe it, Polly, they’re
all in a bustle and fright there too, lest Nap should land first on
the eastern coast. He’ll have enough on hand, if he’s to go everywhere
that’s expected of him! And if he goes there, they’ll get them away
into the fen country, where ’tis thought the French Army won’t be able
to follow.”

Presently the letter was put aside, and Mrs. Bryce betook herself to
the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, not without another passing allusion,
contemptuously worded, on the state of alarm into which folks in
general seem to have fallen.

“Listen now to this, Polly. ’Tis vastly entertaining. ‘Human nature is
too fond of novelty.... Never did it seem to be running so much from
its proper course as in the present age, when we observe night turned
into morning, and the mornings change into night.... Where are the good
days of old Queen Bess? The sun-rise breakfast, the noon-tide repast,
and the twilight pillow of repose?’”

Mrs. Bryce stopped, to indulge in a laugh. “But for my part I have no
especial wish to go back to the manners of Queen Bess. Nor to change
luncheon into dinner once more.” Then she went on reading:--

“‘But among the most prominent foibles of the age is dress. Every
breeze (until the present war) wafted over some new Parisian
extravagance and impropriety, and we had sufficient of our own without
any importation of such French fashions, French manners, and French
ruinations.’ Then, my dear, the same writer goes on to relate how,
after an absence of fifteen years, he returned to his natal town, and
on Sunday, when in church, he could not resist observing the dress of
a certain young woman in his front. She wore ‘the Spanish cloak, the
dome hat, the single thin muslin petticoat, and the still thinner loose
robe that hung from her shoulders,’ all this making him suppose her to
be some personage of no small importance. But, to his amaze, he found
the young female to be--the butcher’s daughter! ’Tis a paper dated
‘August,’ and signed ‘Old Square Toes.’”

A pause, during which Polly’s thoughts flitted away to Fontainebleau,
and then Mrs. Bryce started anew:--

“Listen next to this. ‘Definition of old gentleman of a civil
shopkeeper. “His familiarity goes no farther than to accept whatever
kind of weather I am pleased to bring, and to take in good part my
opinion of the invasion.”’ Vastly entertaining. And now do but listen
to somewhat else----”

But the “somewhat else” was never read, for Jack walked in unannounced,
and with him a young fellow, Albert Pierce by name, nephew to the
Admiral, and subaltern in a newly-arrived regiment at Shorncliffe.

Introductions followed, Polly bestowing one of her most graceful
curtseys upon the new-comer, in consideration of his relationship to
their old friends, Admiral and Mrs. Pierce. No doubt, too, Polly liked
to be admired, as was natural in so pretty a girl, and she read instant
appreciation of her charms in Mr. Pierce’s rather good-looking face.
So she did her best to be agreeable to him during the next two hours,
and seemed to be in tolerable spirits. Whether those spirits remained
equally good, after she had disappeared from general observation,
retiring to her room for the night, none about her could know.

Early the next morning Polly was roused from profound slumber by
agitated sounds.

“Polly! Polly! Polly! Wake up this instant, Polly! I vow and protest
the child is crazed! Wake up, Polly! Polly, do you hear? Polly, they’re
coming!”

Polly roused herself with great deliberation. She was always a heavy
sleeper in the morning, though lively enough at night, and she dragged
herself to a sitting posture, with half-shut eyes and loosely-hanging
hair, looking, it must be conceded, not quite so lovely as when
generally visible to the world.

“Must I get up already, ma’am? ’Tis early.”

“Get up! And already, quotha! ’Tis time you bestirred yourself in
right earnest. Polly, Polly, I entreat of you to make haste. For
they’re coming; they’re on their way hither.”

“Jack and Mr. Pierce?” Polly indulged in a yawn.

“Jack and Mr. Pierce indeed! Why, of course ’tis the French. Cannot you
understand, child? Will you awake? We’ve not a moment to lose. I’ve
always said ’twas nonsense, and they’d never truly come. But they’re
off; they’re on their way. And the wind is favourable, and ’tis all
up with us.” Mrs. Bryce frantically wrung her hands, standing beside
the curtained bed, in her flowered dressing-gown, her hair too hanging
loose, though not descending so low as Polly’s abundant mane, while
her face was yellow-white with terror. “And what we’re to do nobody
knows. Two French fleets of transports, and a whole French army aboard!
And bonfires alight, and folks all astir, and there will be fighting,
and people will be killed. And Mr. Bryce will sure be in the front of
everything, and he will get shot, and I shall be left a widow, Polly.”
Mrs. Bryce collapsed on the foot of the bed. “And we might have been
safe away out of it, if I hadn’t made such a prodigious fool of myself,
never thinking for a moment that old Nap meant a word of it all. I
protest, ’tis enough to drive one distracted. I’ll never in my life
go to the sea-coast again, not for no sort of consideration. And they
say old Nap’ll be here in a few hours, and there’s no way of getting
off--not a horse to be had for love or money! If I’d had a notion of
it, I’d never have stopped here.”

By this time Polly had grasped the situation, and her drowsiness was
gone. She sprang out of bed upon her little white toes, and made
a movement akin to dancing, as she flung a pink wrapper round her
shoulders. This _was_ being in luck, she would have said, if she had
spoken out her first thought. To find herself in the very thick of it
all--as safe as if a hundred miles away, with Moore and his soldiers to
protect her, yet able to see everything--it was delightful. Polly was
a high-spirited girl, not easily alarmed, and fear found no corner in
her mind this morning. She was simply eager and excited, whereas Mrs.
Bryce, who, from sheer perversity had refused to believe in even the
possibility of an invasion, and who from sheer lack of imagination had
failed to realise beforehand what such an invasion might mean if it
ever came, was overwhelmed with terror.

“Has Jack been?” asked Polly.

“Jack! No! How should Jack be spared? He is wanted, of course. They’ll
all be wanted,” moaned Mrs. Bryce. “And they’ll all be killed. And we
shall be taken prisoners, and be carried away to France, and put into
dungeons, and never see England again.”

“I shouldn’t mind going to France, if they would let me be where
somebody is!” murmured Polly. “But they won’t--they won’t. Napoleon has
no such easy task before him. They’ll never get past our soldiers. Why,
think--General Moore is here!”

“Nay, but he’s not; that’s the worst. He away at Dungeness Point. And
the French may land before ever he can get back. Everything is gone
wrong. Alack! Oh, dear!”

“Where is Mr. Bryce?”

“Gone off to see what’s being done. There was no keeping him back. I
protest, he’d no business to leave me. If the French came in here, I
declare I should die of terror on the spot.”

Polly executed another dainty _pas_ on the bare boards.

“Hadn’t we best make ready, ma’am, before they come?” she cheerfully
asked.

“It’s no manner of use, child. They may arrive any moment. Any moment,
I tell you! And what on earth shall we do then?”

Polly suggested a preference for seeing the French in her frock, rather
than in a condition of undress, and after much coaxing she managed to
get Mrs. Bryce into the next room. With all possible expedition, she
made her morning toilette, flitting lightly about, and wondering what
would happen next. Then, discovering that Mrs. Bryce’s maid had fallen
into a fit of hysterics over the prospect of “them mounseers a-comin’,”
she took the maid’s place.

By the time that they both were dressed, Mr. Bryce returned, with a
good deal to tell. The whole place was in a grand commotion. An express
had been despatched to General Moore at Dungeness Point, telling him of
the news received from Folkestone, and informing him that the brigade
was already under arms. The volunteers had turned promptly out, also
the sea fencibles; and one and all were prepared to do and dare each
his utmost in defence of home and country.[2]

“Not a dull face to be seen, nor a frightened one, except----” declared
Mr. Bryce, rubbing his hands, with a glance at the wan cheek of his
usually lively wife. “All the world in high spirits, specially the
soldiers. Jack only hopes that nothing may turn back the fleet. ’Tis
time Napoleon should have a sharp lesson, he says. Heigho, Polly, you
are as fresh as a rose this morning. Come, we’ll have our breakfast
while we may. I see no need to starve out of compliment to the First
Consul.”

“And pray, sir, take me out after,” implored Polly.

“Nay, child, you’re safer in here. Perchance you’d be hurt in the
bustle. Besides, it maybe, Jack will run in for a word, and he would be
vexed to find you gone.”

This was a cogent argument, and Polly submitted. She roved about the
room, looking much out of the window, and singing under her breath
scraps from ballads of the day. First came--

    “‘Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered,
      And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.
    And thousands had sunk on the ground, overpowered,
      The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

           *       *       *       *       *

    “‘Stay, stay with us--rest--thou art weary and worn;
      And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay.
    But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
      And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.’”

Polly made a break here before her sweet voice took up another strain,
more softly uttered:--

    “When you’re parted, Polly Oliver,
      Parted from your own true love,
    Will you be true, Polly Oliver--
      True to your own true love?

    “Yes; though the waves divide us,
      Yes; wheresoever you rove,
    I’m ever your own little Polly--
      Ever your true true love.”

She had altered it slightly, half by instinct, dropping the surname in
the last verse.

“In truth, Polly, you seem mighty indifferent to Napoleon’s doings,”
objected Mrs. Bryce; after which she inquired of her husband how they
were to escape inland.

“Why, that I do not precisely see,” Mr. Bryce answered, with
exasperating satisfaction. “Every man in the place will be wanted,
and not a horse can be spared. Doubtless General Moore will arrange
matters. I think ’tis needful that we should wait a while, and see what
may happen. Depend on’t, Nelson has his eye upon the French fleet, and
’tis a question in my mind whether they ever can get so far as e’en to
the coast of England.”

Mrs. Bryce recurred hysterically to her former assertion that the
French might arrive at any moment.

“Hardly that, since ships must take time to go. But ’tis true they’ve
signalled from Folkestone that the enemy’s boats had left Calais, and
that the transports and ships at Ostend were also out and steering
westerly. So, with this wind, they’ll probably be here in a few hours,
if Nelson doesn’t cut them out on their way with his fleet. And I
promise them, they’ll have a right good reception if they come. Eh,
Polly? We’re making ready for ’em.”

“I can’t have you leave us again, not for no sort of consideration,”
objected Mrs. Bryce. “Your duty, my dear, is to protect us. If the
French come, what may Polly and I do?”

“They’ve a few small difficulties to surmount first,” Mr. Bryce
remarked drily. “’Tis no case of walking quietly on shore. I’ll be back
in good time, my dear, to protect you both, though, indeed, should the
French arrive, my place would be in the ranks with others.”

Mr. Bryce had not been in such excellent spirits for many a day. He was
a quiet and meek-mannered little man commonly, but the prospect of a
fight made him feel quite young again. When next he returned he carried
a musket with supreme satisfaction. Few middle-aged men have not some
remnants of boyhood in them, and all the boyhood in Mr. Bryce came that
day to the surface. He studied his new weapon with glee, talking much
to Polly of “firelocks,” fingering daintily the touch-hole, showing
her how the spark from the flint would set the gunpowder on fire, and
foretelling the certain death of some unfortunate French conscript,
forced to fight for Boney against his will.

“Nay, sir, but you need not kill him,” remonstrated Polly. “Only fire
at his limbs, pray, and we will nurse him till he is well again.”

“I have writ a letter to your grandmother, Polly,” Mrs. Bryce said,
in quavering tones. “Where is the wax? I wish it fastened at once. I
protest I’ve scarce strength to lift a penholder. But I’ve informed her
we will go to Bath so soon as ever we may. I trust only that we’ll not
be made prisoners for life, before ever we’re away from this.”

Somewhat later, no further news having reached them, Mr. Bryce again
sallied forth, and this time he consented to take Polly, both of them
promising to return to Mrs. Bryce, on the very first intimation that
the invading fleet had been sighted. They had not walked far, when a
man on horseback drew near at a quick trot.

“’Tis himself!” Polly exclaimed, with enthusiasm. Both she and Mr.
Bryce knew well the soldierly figure, with its peerless ease and grace
of bearing, and every line of those fine features was familiar to them.

“All will now go well,” murmured Mr. Bryce.

“The General! ’Tis the General, sir.”

They stood still, and Moore, drawing rein sharply, sprang to the
ground. He was well bespattered with mud, and he had the look of having
ridden hard and fast.

“So,” he said, breaking into a smile which lighted up his whole face,
“so, ’tis a false alarm this time!”

Polly’s exclamation contained a note of something like disappointment.
Mr. Bryce seemed more gratified than astonished. The General’s keen
glance went from the one to the other.

“Due to a mistaken signal,” he remarked briefly, “which the
signal-officer at Folkestone understood to mean what it did not mean.
The French transports have not left their stations, either at Calais or
at Ostend.”

“And you, sir, were at Dungeness Point,” observed Mr. Bryce. “You must
have ridden thence at a great speed.”

“At full gallop the entire distance. My horse, poor fellow, is, I fear,
the worse. Not this one; I have mounted another. But the alarm is
scarce a subject for regret. The spirit displayed on all sides has been
of the best.”

“Will Napoleon really come, think you, sir?” asked Polly, half shy,
half brave.

“If his intention be to come before the winter, he has little time to
lose,” Moore answered courteously, also with a touch of reserve, for
privately he had not much faith in the threatened invasion.

“And you think he may do so, sir, in very truth?”

“He may doubtless make the attempt, if he choose. The question is
rather,--what will he gain by it? It would seem that Government has
greater apprehension of invasion now than awhile since. Three more
regiments join me next Tuesday.”

“’Tis better to be over-careful than under-careful,” suggested Mr.
Bryce.

“And the stronger front we present, the less likely are we to be
attacked. But I must away. Sir David Dundas will be arriving soon.
My compliments to Mrs. Bryce. She is not, I hope, the worse for this
alarm.”

“Somewhat shaken, sir; but we will return to cheer her up. She proposes
flight to Bath for safety.”

“She might perhaps go to a worse place,” remarked the General, as he
mounted and rode off, with a parting salute.

“Well, Polly?” said Mr. Bryce, when they had watched him out of sight.

“Well, sir?” echoed Polly, in arch tones.

“The false alarm, at least has served to show of what metal some folks
are made,” said Mr. Bryce drily.

(_To be continued._)

FOOTNOTES:

[1] In this and later letters, many literal quotations are inserted
from MS. letters of that date, indited by a great-great-aunt of my own,
Miss Charlotte Giberne, then resident in Bath.

[2] This scare actually took place at the date and place and in the
manner described.




HOUSEHOLD HINTS.


BREAD and milk for invalids should be made by crumbling the bread into
a basin, pouring the boiling milk over it and warming it through on the
fire in an enamelled saucepan. Care should be taken that there are no
lumps or hard crusts.

WHEN a head of long hair has to be washed, the hair should be first
plaited and the scalp washed carefully, then the hair washed separately
unplaited. This saves many tangles and loss of both hair and temper.

FLOWERS cut or picked in the early morning last much longer than those
gathered later in the day, and, if they are to be sent by post, should
be placed in water for a short time before being packed.

WHEN having hair shampooed at a hairdresser’s, be careful to shut your
mouth and breathe as little as possible while stooping over the marble
basin. Otherwise you run great risk of illness by inhaling sewer gas
from the waste pipe which should not be, but is sometimes, connected
with a drain.

STAIR-CARPETS should occasionally be taken up, the steps cleaned, and
the carpet replaced so that what was on the edge of a step before
should be now in the middle. Carpets treated this way will last much
longer and not look shabby so soon.

A COAL-SCUTTLE should be kept by the kitchen fireplace to hold sifted
cinders, and if these are damped and put on where there is a good coal
fire, they make a fierce hot fire and save the coals; but they should
be well damped with clean water just before using.




ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.

BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of “Sisters
Three,” etc.


CHAPTER X.

Although Fräulein had charge over the girls’ education, Mr. Asplin
reserved to himself the right of superintending their studies and
dictating their particular direction. He was so accustomed to training
boys for a definite end that he had no patience with the ordinary
aimless routine of a girl’s school course, and in the case of his
daughters had carefully provided for their different abilities and
tastes. Esther was a born student, a clear-headed, hard-thinking
girl, who took a delight in wrestling with Latin verbs and in solving
problems in Euclid, while she had little or no artistic faculty. He
put her through much the same course as his own boys, gave her half an
hour’s private lesson on unoccupied afternoons, and cut down the two
hours’ practising on the piano to a bare thirty minutes. Esther had
pleaded to give up music altogether, on the ground that she had neither
love nor skill for this accomplishment, but to this the Vicar would not
agree.

“You have already spent much time over it, and have passed the worst of
the drudgery; it would be folly to lose all you have learnt,” he said.
“You may not wish to perform in public, but there are many other ways
in which your music may be useful. In time to come you would be sorry
if you could not read an accompaniment to a song, play bright airs to
amuse children, or hymn tunes to help in a service. Half an hour a day
will keep up what you have learned, and so much time you must manage to
spare.”

With Mellicent the case was almost exactly opposite. It was a waste
of time trying to teach her mathematics, she had not sufficient brain
power to grasp them, and if she succeeded in learning a proposition by
heart like a parrot, it was only to collapse into helpless tears and
protestations when the letters were altered, and, as it seemed to her,
the whole argument changed thereby.

Fräulein protested that it was impossible to teach Mellicent to reason,
but the Vicar was loath to give up his pet theory that girls should
receive the same hard mental training as their brothers. He declared
that if the girl were weak in this direction, it was all the more
necessary that she should be trained, and volunteered to take her
in hand for half an hour daily to see what could be done. Fräulein
accepted this offer with a chuckle of satisfaction, and the Vicar went
on with the lessons several weeks, patiently plodding over the same
ground without making the least impression on poor Mellicent’s brain,
until there came one happy never-to-be-forgotten morning when Algebra
and Euclid went spinning up to the ceiling, and he jumped from the
table with a roar of helpless laughter.

“Oh, baby! baby! this is past all bearing! We might try for a century,
and never get any further. I cannot waste any more time.” Then, seeing
the large tears gathering, he framed the pretty face in his hands,
and looked at it with a tender smile. “Never mind, darling! there are
better things in this world than being clever and learned. You will be
our little house-daughter; help mother with her work, and play and sing
to father when he is tired in the evening. Work hard at your music,
learn how to manage a house, to sew and mend, and cook, and you will
have nothing to regret. A woman who can make a home has done more than
many scholars.”

So it came to pass that Mellicent added the violin to her
accomplishments, and was despatched to her own room to practise
exercises, while her elder sister wrestled with problems and equations.

When Peggy Saville arrived, here was a fresh problem, for Fräulein
reported that the good child could not add five and six together
without tapping them over on her finger; was as ignorant of geography
as a little heathen, and had so little ear for music that she could not
sing “Rule Britannia” without branching off into “God save the Queen.”
But when it came to poetry!--Fräulein held up her hands in admiration.
It was absolutely no effort to that child to remember, her eyes seemed
to flash down the page, and the lines were her own, and as she repeated
them her face shone, and her voice thrilled with such passionate
delight that Esther and Mellicent had been known to shed tears at the
sound of words which had fallen dead and lifeless from their own lips.
And at composition, how original she was! What a relief it was to find
so great a contrast to other children! When it was the life of a great
man which should be written, Esther and Mellicent began their essays
as ninety-nine out of a hundred school-girls would do, with a flat
and obvious statement of birth, birth-place, and parentage, but Peggy
disdained such commonplace methods, and dashed headlong into the heart
of her subject with a high-flown sentiment, or a stirring assertion
which at once arrested the reader’s interest. And it was the same
with whatever she wrote; she had the power of investing the dullest
subject with charm and brightness. Fräulein could not say too much of
Peggy’s powers in this direction, and the Vicar’s eye brightened as he
listened. He asked eagerly to be allowed to see the girl’s MS. book,
and summoned his wife from pastry-making in the kitchen to hear the
three or four essays which it contained.

“What do you think of those for a girl of fourteen? There’s a pupil
for you! If she were only a boy! Such dash--such spirit--such a gift
of words! Do you notice her adjectives? Exaggerated, no doubt, and
over-abundant, but so apt, so true, so strong! That child can write:
she has the gift. She ought to turn out an author of no mean rank.”

“Oh, dear me! I hope not. I hope she will marry a nice, kind man who
will be good to her, and have too much to do looking after her children
to waste her time writing stories,” cried Mrs. Asplin, who adored a
good novel when she could get hold of one, but harboured a prejudice
against all women-authors as strong-minded creatures, who lived in
lodgings, and sported short hair, inky fingers, and a pen behind the
ear. Mariquita Saville was surely destined for a happier fate. “When
a woman can live her own romance, why need she trouble her head about
inventing others!”

Her husband looked at her with a quizzical smile.

“Even the happiest life is not all romance, dear. It sometimes seems
unbearably prosaic, and then it is a relief to lose oneself in fiction.
You can’t deny that! I seem to have a remembrance of seeing someone
I know seated in a big chair before this very fire devouring a novel
and a Newtown pippin together on more Saturday afternoons than I could
number.”

“Tuts!” said his wife, and blushed a rosy red, which made her look
ridiculously young and pretty. Saturday afternoon was her holiday-time
of the week, and she had not yet outgrown her school-girl love of
eating apples as an accompaniment to an interesting book, but how
aggravating to be reminded of her weakness just at this moment of all
others! “What an inconvenient memory you have,” she said complainingly.
“Can’t a poor body indulge in a little innocent recreation without
having it brought up against her in argument ever afterwards. And I
thought we were talking about Peggy! What is at the bottom of this
excitement? I know you have some plan in your head.”

“I mean to see that she reads good books, and only books that will
help, and not hinder her progress! The rest will come in time. She must
learn before she can teach, have some experience of her own before she
can imagine the experiences of others; but writing is Peggy’s gift,
and she has been put in my charge. I must try to give her the right
training.”

From that time forward Mr. Asplin studied Peggy with a special
interest, and a few evenings later a conversation took place among
the young people which confirmed him in his conclusion as to her
possibilities. Lessons were over for the day, and girls and boys were
amusing themselves in the drawing-room, while Mr. Asplin read the
_Spectator_, and his wife knitted stockings by the fire. Mellicent
was embroidering a prospective Christmas present, an occupation which
engaged her leisure hours from March to December; Esther was reading,
and Peggy was supposed to be writing a letter, but was, in reality,
talking incessantly, with her elbows planted on the table, and her face
supported on her clasped hands. She wore a bright pink frock, which
gave a tinge of colour to the pale face, her hair was unbound from the
tight pig-tail and tied with a ribbon on the nape of her neck, from
which it fell in smooth heavy waves to her waist. It was one of the
moments when her companions realised with surprise that Peggy could
look astonishingly pretty upon occasion, and Oswald, from the sofa, and
Max and Bob, from the opposite side of the table, listened to her words
with all the more attention on that account.

She was discussing the heroine of a book which they had been reading
in turns, pointing out the inconsistencies in her behaviour, and
expatiating on the superior manner in which she--Mariquita--would have
behaved had positions been reversed. Then the boys had described their
own imaginary conduct under the trying circumstances, drawing forth
peals of derisive laughter from the feminine audience, and the question
had finally drifted from “What would you do?” to “What would you be?”
with the result that each one was eager to expatiate on his own pet
schemes and ambitions.

“I should like to come out first in all England in the Local
Examinations, get my degree of M.A., and be a teacher in a large High
School,” said Esther solemnly. “At Christmas and Easter I would come
home and see my friends, and in summer time I’d go abroad and travel,
and rub up my languages. Of course, what I should like best would be
to be head mistress of Girton, but I could not expect that to come for
a good many years. I must be content to work my way up, and I shall be
quite happy wherever I am, so long as I am teaching.”

“Poor old Esther! and she will wear spectacles, and black alpaca
dresses, and woollen mittens on her hands! Can’t I see her!” cried Max,
throwing back his head with one of the cheery bursts of laughter which
brought his mother’s eyes upon him with a flash of adoring pride. “Now
there’s none of that overweening ambition about me. I could bear up if
I never saw an improving book again. What _I_ would like would be for
some benevolent old millionaire to take a fancy to me, and adopt me as
his heir. I feel cut out to be a country gentleman and march about in
gaiters and knickerbockers, looking after the property, don’t you know,
and interviewing my tenants. I’d be strict with them, but kind at the
same time; look into all their grievances, and put them right whenever
I could. I’d make it a model place before I’d done with it, and all the
people would adore me. That’s my ambition, and a very good one it is
too; I defy anyone to have a better.”

“I should like to marry a very rich man with a big moustache, and
a beautiful house in London with a fireplace in the hall,” cried
Mellicent fervently. “I should have carriages and horses, and a diamond
necklace and three children; Valentine Roy--that should be the boy--and
Hildegarde and Ermyntrude, the girls, and they should have golden hair
like Rosalind, and blue eyes, and never wear anything but white, and
big silk sashes. I’d have a housekeeper to look after the dinners and
things, and a governess for the children, and never do anything myself
except give orders and go out to parties. I’d be the happiest woman
that ever lived.”

Lazy Oswald smiled in complacent fashion.

“And the fattest! Dearie me, wouldn’t you be a tub! I don’t know that I
have any special ambition. I mean to get my degree if I can, and then
persuade the governor to send me a tour round the world. I like moving
about, and change and excitement, and travelling is good fun if you
avoid the fag, and provide yourself with introductions to the right
people. I know a fellow who went off for a year and had no end of a
time; people put him up at their houses, and got up balls and dinners
for his benefit, and he never had to rough it a bit. I could put in a
year or two in that way uncommonly well.”

Rob had been wriggling on his chair and scowling in his wild-bear
fashion all the while Oswald was speaking, and at the conclusion he
relieved his feelings by kicking out recklessly beneath the table, with
the result that Peggy sat up suddenly with a “My foot, my friend! Curb
your enthusiasm!” which made him laugh, despite his annoyance.

“But it’s such bosh!” he cried scornfully. “It makes me sick to hear
a fellow talk such nonsense. Balls and dinners--faugh! If that’s your
idea of happiness, why not settle down in London and be done with it!
That’s the place for you! I’d give my ears to go round the world, but
I wouldn’t thank you to go with a dress suit and a valet; I’d want
to rough it, to get right out of the track of civilisation and taste
a new life; to live with the Bedouin in their tents as some of those
artist fellows have done, or make friends with a tribe of savages.
Magnificent! I’d keep a note-book with an account of all I did, and
all the strange plants and flowers and insects I came across, and write
a book when I came home. I’d a lot rather rough it in Africa that
lounge about Piccadilly in a frock coat and tall hat.” Robert sighed
at the hard prospect which lay before him as the son of a noble house,
then looked across the table with a smile: “And what says the fair
Mariquita? What _rôle_ in life is she going to patronise when she comes
to years of discretion?”

Peggy nibbled the end of her pen and stared into space.

“I’ve not quite decided,” she said slowly. “I should like to be either
an author or an orator, but I’m not sure which. I think, on the whole,
an orator, because then you could watch the effect of your words.
It is not possible, of course, but what I should like best would be
to be the Archbishop of Canterbury, or some great dignitary of the
Church. Oh, just imagine it! To stand up in the pulpit and see the dim
cathedral before one, and the faces of the people looking up, white
and solemn.... I’d stand waiting until the roll of the organ died away
and there was a great silence; then I would look at them, and say to
myself--‘A thousand people, two thousand people, and for half an hour
they are in my power. I can make them think as I will, see as I will,
feel as I will. They are mine! I am their leader.’--I cannot imagine
anything in the world more splendid than that! I should choose to be
the most wonderful orator that was ever known, and people would come
from all over the world to hear me, and I would say beautiful things in
beautiful words, and see the answer in their faces, and meet the flash
in the eyes looking up into mine. Oh--h! if it could only--only be
true; but it can’t, you see. I am a girl, and if I try to do anything
in public I am as nervous as a rabbit, and can only squeak, squeak,
squeak in a tiny little voice that would not reach across the room. I
had to recite at a prize-giving at school once, and, my dears, it was
a lamentable failure! I was only audible to the first three rows, and
when it was over, I simply sat down and howled, and my knees shook.
Oh, dear, the very recollection unpowers me! So I think, on the whole,
I shall be an authoress, and let my pen be my sceptre. From my quiet
fireside,” cried Peggy, with a sudden assumption of the Mariquita
manner, and a swing of the arms which upset a vase of chrysanthemums,
and sent a stream of water flowing over the table--“from my quiet
fireside I will sway the hearts of men----”

“My plush cloth! Oh, bad girl,--my new plush cloth! You dreadful Peggy,
what will I do with you!” Mrs. Asplin rushed forward to mop with her
handkerchief and lift the dripping flowers to a place of safety, while
Peggy rolled up her eyes with an expression of roguish impenitence.

“Dear Mrs. Asplin, it was not I, it was that authoress. She was
evolving her plots.... Pity the eccentricities of the great!”

(_To be continued._)




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


MEDICAL.

HERMIA.--We have never seen nor heard of cancer occurring in a girl of
eighteen. The earliest age at which we have seen cancer of the breast
was twenty-four. The disease is exceedingly rare before thirty-five.
You have probably got a simple swelling. Go to a surgeon and ask his
advice. Possibly a trivial operation may be needed to remove the lump.

MA TANTE.--What is your work? This is the first question to ask anyone
who is troubled with roughness of the arms. We would have been pleased
if you had given us a description of the roughness of which you
complain. Roughness above the elbows may be due to so many causes. If
there is nothing to see upon your arm, no spots or patches, but simply
a slight scaliness of the arm, wash the place in warm water and soap,
and then smear on a very little lanoline or simple ointment.

COMPLEXION.--1. We have published many long “Answers” on the subject of
face-spots. In last year’s volume you will find a very long account of
“acne” in an answer to “Fair Isabel.” In 1896 we published an article
on face-spots. You should read these and they will tell you practically
all that you require. The little article on the complexion, recently
published, will also help you.--2. The soap that you mention is made
for household and not for toilet use. We strongly dissuade you from
using it for washing your face.

TIGER.--We are always pleased to answer questions about the feet and
hands, for the subject has great fascination for us. The cause and
treatment of flat-foot are well understood; but it is far more easy
to prevent the feet from becoming flat, than it is to restore the
natural arch of the foot after it has once been broken down. The causes
of flat-foot are numerous. Occupations which necessitate prolonged
standing. How often we see flat-foot in policemen. Occupations in
which you sit down all day. The office clerk is generally flat-footed.
Weakness of the muscles of the legs, whether part of a general weakness
or not, is another cause. Lastly, and vastly the most important cause
of all is ill-fitting foot-gear. We do not believe that flat-foot would
ever occur if people did not wear boots or shoes. If your boots are
very well made, and do not bend at the waist, but are flexible in the
toes, they will not produce flat-foot. But by far the greater number
of boots bend in the waist only, the result is, that the centre of
the foot, where nature intended that but little movement should take
place, is the only part of the civilised foot which is free to bend.
Its joints are dragged open at every step, the tendons and ligaments
give way, the arch collapses and the foot becomes quite flat. To treat
flat-foot, get boots which fit well, and which are prevented from
bending in the centre by being stiffened with a steel waist. Pads are
often used for this complaint. The pads are shaped like a division
of an orange and are placed in the boots to support the instep. If
they fit and are comfortable they are useful. If, as is usually the
case, they do not fit, they cause extreme discomfort and do great
harm. Walking on tip-toe for half an hour a day, without boots or
shoes on, will help to strengthen the foot and relieve the flatness.
Walking, running and jumping, are excellent exercises for the relief or
flat-foot. Skipping is a pleasant and useful pastime for flat-footed
girls.

FORGET-ME-NOT.--1. We are much pleased to hear that your daughter’s
hair has improved from using the wash. Continue to wash her hair
once a week with the boracic acid. After having washed and dried her
hair rub a little sulphur ointment into the scalp. It is useless to
apply the ointment to the hair itself.--2. Your second question is
rather difficult to answer. Your daughter is certainly suffering from
blepharitis--a most intractable disease. The treatment that you are
carrying out is the best we know; but we would suggest that she should
bathe her eyes twice a day in warm solution of bicarbonate of soda
(5 grains to the ounce). In your daughter’s case it is probable that
something more than lotions and ointments is needed. It is well worth
your while to consult an ophthalmic surgeon. The longer the disease
has lasted the more difficult it is to cure. You should attend to the
general health of your daughter and feed her well.

HESPERUS.--Do not feed your children on condensed milk alone. If you
continue to do so you will have five rickety children to look after.
Cow’s milk diluted with fresh barley water is the best artificial food
(excluding asses’ milk which is very expensive) for infants. The elder
children may be allowed to eat much the same as you do yourself. It
is always well to let children have plenty of milk even when they can
digest ordinary adult diet. Give the child with “weak legs” a little
cream with her milk.

URSULA.--1. A pale swollen tongue is a symptom of many complaints.
Usually it denotes indigestion, constipation or anæmia. It is
constantly present in atonic and amylaceous dyspepsia.--2. The
incubation period of mumps is rather variable. It is usually from two
to three weeks.

ROLY POLY.--1. The usual expedient adopted to cure children from the
habit of biting their nails is to dip their fingers into tincture of
aloes or solution of alum. If you cannot cure yourself of the habit
by rational means, you might try one of these measures; but surely a
girl of seventeen can restrain herself from such a habit. It is a very
silly trick to get accustomed to, for it interferes with the proper
development of the nails, and, consequently, spoils the look of the
hands.--2. Clean your nails well and rub a very little lanoline into
them.

JANET.--Go to an ophthalmic surgeon and get your eyes seen to at once.
If taken in time squint is usually cured without operation.

MIRIAM.--We cannot too strongly insist upon the foolishness of taking
patent medicines. How anyone can trifle with her health in this way we
cannot conceive. When you take patent medicine, what are you doing? You
are throwing into your blood a decoction of which you know nothing. You
are feeding yourself upon drugs which, for all you know, may poison
you. And what do you take these drugs for? Oh, for a headache, or for
biliousness! And yet you have no stronger authority for taking the
stuff for your ailment than the assurance of the company who sells the
medicine. Of course we know that most patent medicines are inert; but
only this morning a case is related in the newspapers of a woman who
died from taking somebody’s pills. Give up your silly habit of taking
drugs at all. If you were not careless with your health you would
probably not be suffering from your present troubles.


MISCELLANEOUS.

SOLDIER’S FRIEND.--The Royal Artillery College is at Woolwich. The
Royal School of Military Engineering is at Chatham. We do not quite
comprehend your question. The candidate would have to pass the entrance
examination, of course.

FIANCÉE.--At a reception after a two o’clock wedding the refreshments
would consist of tea, coffee, or iced coffee, cups of any kind you may
like; sandwiches, jellies, blancmanges, trifles, ices, cake, bread
and butter; plenty of flowers, and the wedding-cake. You could have
some tiny tables arranged about the room, but the refreshments are
what are called “standing up,” exactly like a large afternoon tea. The
bride’s father provides carriages for the bride and the family in the
house. Her bridesmaids should meet her at the church, and if needful a
carriage should be provided for their return; but it is not customary
to provide any for the guests, unless the church be at a great distance
off. In this case it is better to invite the guests to the reception
only, but this is optional. You would take your father’s left arm to
walk up the aisle, and you return in the same carriage that brought
you, unless the bridegroom should possess a carriage of his own, when
the bride sometimes returns in that, but not always.

MABEL.--For a mayor’s reception held in the evening you and your
husband should both wear evening dress. The lady mayoress generally
receives her guests, and you should give your names to the servant who
announces you, and then go forward and shake hands.

SOPHIA.--“The King’s Daughters” form an order of Christian service,
which was first founded in America, where it has over 200,000 members.
It has now been made international. The branch for Great Britain was
formed in 1891. The object of the Order is to develop spiritual life
and to stimulate Christian activity by creating a world-wide sisterhood
of service among all women who are doing anything to uplift humanity.
Their badge is a small silver cross, bearing the initials of their
watchword--“In His Name.” It is now worn all over the world. In all
400,000 men, women, and children have taken the little cross as the
outward symbol of their pledge of love and service for Christ’s sake,
and there are more than 1,000 different lines of work carried out by
the Order. It was founded by ten women in New York City on January
13th, 1886, and its progress may be considered quite unique, as it is
one of the most remarkable of the great religious societies of the
day. In England the Hon. Secretary and Treasurer is Miss M. Stuart,
17, Morpeth Mansions, Victoria Street, London, S.W., from whom all
information can be obtained.

ROWENA.--The personal property of an unmarried sister would be equally
divided between mother, brothers, and sisters; but if the father were
living, the whole would go to him. Real property would all go to the
eldest brother, unless there were a father, when it would all go
to him. You will find all about intestates’ estates in _Whitaker’s
Almanack_, from which we take the above.

CLEMATIS.--The word “Beryl” is pronounced as having two
syllables--Ber-ril; and the word “minx” is pronounced as spelt--minks.

ISABEL.--February 13th, 1847, was a Saturday.




THE GIRL’S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS COMPETITION.


_The sixth and last instalment of questions in this instructive
Competition is given below. Full details as to prizes and certificates
of merit appeared on page 14._


QUESTIONS 61-72.

61. Is what is known as the poisonous upas tree of Java a fact or a
hoax?

       *       *       *       *       *

62. What is the best way of treating a fainting fit?

       *       *       *       *       *

63. What public punishment was once in use in England for scolding
women?

       *       *       *       *       *

64. What was the origin of the phrase “The Wise Fools of Gotham?”

       *       *       *       *       *

65. Is length of life greater now than it used to be?

       *       *       *       *       *

66. Of what literary work has it been said that it is “perhaps the only
book about which the educated minority has come over to the opinion of
the common people?”

       *       *       *       *       *

67. Who was the young Fellow of Oxford who, during the latter half of
last century, eloped with a banker’s daughter and came in the end to be
Lord Chancellor of England?

       *       *       *       *       *

68. What plant was introduced early in the seventeenth century into
this country as an ornamental plant but is now a favourite vegetable?

       *       *       *       *       *

69. Who was the father of English Cathedral music?

       *       *       *       *       *

70. What may fairly claim to be the greatest work of imagination in the
world?

       *       *       *       *       *

71. What Scottish sovereign, looking out of the window of the prison in
which he was once confined, caught sight for the first time of the lady
whom he afterwards married?

       *       *       *       *       *

72. How many different kinds of clouds may be seen floating in the sky?

The answers to the above questions, Nos. 61-72, together with the
answers to questions 49-60, which appeared on page 135, must be sent in
on or before February 24, 1899.

Address to THE EDITOR, THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER Office, 56, Paternoster
Row, London, E.C., and at the left-hand top corner of the envelope or
wrapper write the words “QUESTIONS COMPETITION.”

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A WORKING PARTY.]

       *       *       *       *       *




THE FAIRY GOVERNESS.

A MUSICAL STORY.

Written and Composed by HERBERT HARRADEN.


_Characters:_

HYACINTHIA              The Fairy of the Dell.
FAIRY GOVERNESS         (Elderly looking).
FLIBBIE                 An Elf.
ALICE                   A Mortal Child.

Fairies and Elves in attendance on HYACINTHIA (but these can be dispensed with).

_Introduction:_ Play the Accompaniment of No. 3 for the Introduction.


_Scene: A DELL._

_Enter FAIRY GOVERNESS._


No. 1.    SAD AND SORROWFUL.

(SONG.--GOVERNESS.)

[Music]

    1. For me the sun doth ne - ver shine,
    For me there is no peace,
    A wea - ry, drea - ry lot is mine,
    My troubles nev - er cease,
    A wea - ry, drea - ry lot is mine,
    My troubles nev - er cease.

    A stranger to joy and glee,
    With ne - ver a mo - ment free,
    There’s rest for me ne - ver,
    For ev - er and ev - er
    A Go - ver - ness I must be,
    A sad and sor - row - ful, tired - out
    Go - ver - ness I must ev - er be.

    2. And will the sun ne’er shine a - gain
    As in the days of yore?
    Ah, no! my hopes _have_ been in vain,
    And will be ev - er - more.
    Ah, no! my hopes _have_ been in vain,
    And will be ev - er - more.

    A stranger to joy and glee,
    With ne - ver a mo - ment free,
    There’s rest for me ne - ver,
    For ev - er and ev - er
    A Go - ver - ness I must be,
    A sad and sor - row - ful, tired - out
    Go - ver - ness I must ev - er be.

  GOV. (_sitting down_). Ah! it is a cruel punishment! Once I was
        a mortal child, but that was years ago, and when I came
        into Hyacinth Dell I was made a Fairy, and was appointed
        Governess to the most trying and perverse Elf in all Fairy
        Land. I don’t dare to think that _I_ was as trying and
        perverse to _my_ Governess. She told me that this Dell was
        enchanted, and forbade me to enter it, and only when it
        was _too late_ did I regret my disobedience. Here comes my
        precious pupil.

_Enter FLIBBIE._

  GOV. Now, Flibbie, late again! You are always unpunctual. It is
        very wrong to be unpunctual. Come here at once!

  FLIB. (_slyly_). Please, Governess, is it worse to be unpunctual
        than disobedient?

  GOV. Whatever you do that is not right is wrong.

  FLIB. That is rather an artful answer.

  GOV. How dare you speak to me like that?

  FLIB. (_laughs slyly_).

  GOV. Don’t laugh!

  FLIB. (_serious_). I’m not laughing.

  GOV. But you _were_ laughing. And how many times have I told you
        not to twiddle your thumbs?

  FLIB. I really don’t know, Governess; it never occurred to me to
        count.

  GOV. We will commence with History. How was William Rufus killed?

  FLIB. With an arrow.

  GOV. There’s a good Flibbie! You see you _can_ be good if you
        try. And who killed him?

  FLIB. A sparrow.

  GOV. A sparrow?

  FLIB. Yes, Governess. “I, said the sparrow, with my bow and
        arrow.” Shakespeare!

  GOV. But I was asking about William Rufus.

  FLIB. Oh, I beg your pardon, Governess, I thought you were asking
        about Cock Robin. Of course, William Rufus was killed by
        Sir Walter Squirrel.

  GOV. “Sir Walter” is right, Flibbie, but not “Squirrel.”

  FLIB. Oh, I beg your pardon, Governess, I saw one on that
        oak-tree, and it diverted my thoughts. Of course, it was
        Sir Walter Tyrrel.

  GOV. Quite right, Flibbie. And why was William called Rufus?

  FLIB. On account of the colour of his hair.

  GOV. And what colour was his hair?

  FLIB. Blue; and he had a big beard of the same colour, and he
        had ever so many wives, and he cut off their heads, and,
        and--hung them up in the drawing-room, and locked the
        door--and----

  GOV. No, no, Flibbie! You are thinking of Blue Beard. What
        colour was the hair of William Rufus?

  FLIB. Green.

  GOV. No.

  FLIB. Magenta.

  GOV. No.

  FLIB. Vandyke brown.

  GOV. No.

  FLIB. Crimson lake.

  GOV. Oh, Flibbie, how trying you are!

  FLIB. Pink.

  GOV. No.

  FLIB. Vermilion.

  GOV. No.

  FLIB. I recollect, now. Red.

  GOV. Quite right, Flibbie.

  FLIB. And for this reason the boys at school called him
        “Carrots.”

  GOV. I don’t think that’s in history, Flibbie.

  FLIB. Then, please, Governess, I think it ought to be.

  GOV. Now for Geography. What is an Island?

  FLIB. An Island is a piece of water surrounded by land.

  GOV. Oh, Flibbie, how _can_ you be so irritating? I must insist
        upon knowing what an Island is.

  FLIB. Don’t you know? As you are a Governess, you ought to know.

  GOV. Of course I know, but I want you to tell me what an Island
        is, so that _I_ may know that _you_ know.

  FLIB. An Island is a piece of land surrounded by water.

  GOV. Quite right! Why didn’t you say that at first?

  FLIB. Didn’t I?

  GOV. Flibbie, you know you didn’t. What is Sheffield celebrated
        for?

  FLIB. For the crocodiles that infest its shores.

  GOV. Flibbie, your behaviour is shameful.

  FLIB. Oh, I beg your pardon, Governess, that’s the answer to
        “What is the Nile celebrated for?” Sheffield is celebrated
        for its cutlets.

  GOV. For its cutlets?

  FLIB. I beg your pardon, Governess, I meant cutlery.

  GOV. And now for Grammar. What is Grammar?

  FLIB. A nuisance.

  GOV. I don’t want your opinion of Grammar, Flibbie, I want your
        definition of it.

  FLIB. Please, Governess, I cannot give _my_ definition of it, but
        I can give Webster’s.

  GOV. Very well, Flibbie.

  FLIB. Grammar is “the science of language; the theory of human
        speech; the study of forms of speech, and their relations
        to one another.”

  GOV. Very good indeed, Flibbie. Now, what is a Conjunction?

  FLIB. It is a place where different lines of railways meet.
        There’s one at Clapham.

  GOV. No, Flibbie, you are thinking of a Junction. What is a
        Conjunction?

  FLIB. Oh, I beg your pardon! A Conjunction is “a connective or
        connecting word; an indeclinable word which serves to unite
        sentences, clauses of a sentence, or words.” Also Webster.
        And, please, Governess, there is a little point of grammar
        that has always puzzled me. Will you kindly explain it?

  GOV. Certainly, Flibbie. What is it?

  FLIB. Is it correct to say “Four and seven _is_ twelve,” or,
        “Four and seven _are_ twelve”?

  GOV. Why, of course, Flibbie, it is correct to say “Four and
        seven _are_ twelve.”

  FLIB. (_laughing_). Please, Governess, I’m sure it isn’t, for
        four and seven are eleven. I caught you there!

  GOV. Was there ever such an imp! Now for Spelling.


No. 2.    SPELLING DUET.

(GOVERNESS AND FLIBBIE.)

[Music]

    GOVERNESS.
    1. How do you spell Cat?

    FLIBBIE.
    Please, Go - ver - ness, did you say Rat?

    GOVERNESS.
    No, I said Cat.

    FLIBBIE.
    I beg your par - don! I thought you said Rat.

    GOVERNESS.
    No, I said Cat!

    FLIBBIE.
    I thought you said Rat.

    GOVERNESS.
    Spell Cat!

    FLIBBIE.
    I can ea - si - ly do that.
    K A T, Kat.

    GOVERNESS.
    You are so wil - ful and per - verse,
    It’s real - ly ve - ry sad;
    Each day you’re get - ting worse and worse,
    And soon you’ll drive me mad!

    FLIBBIE.
    I’m ve - ry sor - ry, Go - ver - ness,
    I real - ly _can’t_ be good;
    How much I try you can - not guess,
    I on - ly wish I could.

    GOVERNESS.
    2. How do you spell Fat?

    FLIBBIE.
    Please, Go - ver - ness, did you say Mat?

    GOVERNESS.
    No, I said Fat.

    FLIBBIE.
    Kind - ly ex - cuse me! I thought you said Mat.

    GOVERNESS.
    No, I said Fat!

    FLIBBIE.
    I thought you said Mat.

    GOVERNESS.
    Spell Fat!

    FLIBBIE.
    I can ea - si - ly do that.
    P H A T, Phat.

    GOVERNESS.
    You are so wil - ful and per - verse,
    It’s real - ly ve - ry sad;
    Each day you’re get - ting worse and worse,
    And soon you’ll drive me mad!

    FLIBBIE.
    I’m ve - ry sor - ry, Go - ver - ness,
    I real - ly _can’t_ be good;
    How much I try you can - not guess,
    I real - ly wish I could,
    How much I try you can - not guess,
    I on - ly wish I could.

    {GOVERNESS.}
    {FLIBBIE.  }
    {You are so wil - ful and per - verse,}
    {I’m ve - ry sor - ry, Go - ver - ness,}

    {It’s real - ly ve - ry sad;}
    {I real - ly _can’t_ be good;}

    {Each day you’re get - ting worse and worse,}
    {How much I try you can - not guess,}

    {And soon you’ll drive me mad,}
    {I real - ly wish I could,}

    {Each day you’re get - ting worse and worse,}
    {How much I try you can - not guess,}

    {And soon you’ll drive me mad!}
    {I on - ly wish I could.}

  FLIB. Please, Governess, I’m tired of lessons. Take me for a
        little walk.

  GOV. Very well, Flibbie, but you must try to walk slower. I am
        not so active as you are.

  FLIB. I’ll try, Governess. (_Aside_) Won’t I lead her a dance!
        That’s all.

  GOV. Come along, then!

_Exeunt GOVERNESS and FLIBBIE._

_Enter ALICE._


No. 3.    “I’M NOT TO DO THIS.”

(SONG.--ALICE.)

[Music]

    1. I’ve es - caped from my Go - ver - ness! Oh, what a treat!
    Some fault she has al - ways to find;
    And when I get home, with a scold - ing I’ll meet,
    But not in the least shall I mind.
    She’ll be in a ter - ri - ble fright, I can tell,
    But she’ll hunt for me vain - ly, I fear;
    She for - bade me to en - ter this beau - ti - ful Dell,
    And that is the rea - son I’m here.

    I’m not to do this, I am to do that,
    I’m grum - bled at all the day long;
    What - ev - er I don’t do,
    What - ev - er I do do,
    I’m sure to be told it is wrong, wrong, wrong,
    Ne - ver right, ne - ver right, al - ways wrong.

    2. And this is the Dell that’s en - chant - ed, she said,
    I’m sure it looks harm - less e - nough;
    The sto - ry in some chil - dren’s book she has read,
    So it must all be non - sense and stuff.
    Of course she will say to me, “Where did you go?”
    And the truth I will cer - tain - ly tell;
    And then I can tease her and laugh at her so,
    For be - liev - ing in Hy - a - cinth Dell.

    I’m not to do this, I am to do that,
    I’m grum - bled at all the day long;
    What - ev - er I don’t do,
    What - ev - er I do do,
    I’m sure to be told it is wrong, wrong, wrong,
    Ne - ver right, ne - ver right, al - ways wrong.

  ALICE (_looking off_). But who is this coming so slowly along?
        She certainly looks as if she wanted stirring up a bit.

_Enter GOVERNESS. ALICE retires to the back and listens._

  GOV. (_sitting down_). I seem to get weaker and weaker and more
        tired every day. I’m sure it is hard enough to have to take
        Flibbie out for a walk, for he goes so fast on purpose, as
        he knows that I am obliged to keep up with him; but when
        it comes to have to run after him, it is intolerable. Of
        course, if he gets into mischief, I get into trouble for
        it; and as he is always getting into mischief, on purpose,
        I am always getting into trouble. He’s run away and hidden
        himself somewhere. I’ve hunted for him high and low, and
        it’s almost time for his Euclid lesson. Oh, dear me! Who’d
        be a Governess, a miserable Governess!

  ALICE (_coming forward_). Oh, tell me that I have not heard
        rightly. Tell me that you are _not_ a Governess.

  GOV. (_rising_). A mortal child! Unhappy One! Why, oh, why did
        you venture into Hyacinth Dell. I _am_ a Governess--a Fairy
        Governess.

  ALICE. Then what my Governess told me was true! Why didn’t I
        believe her?

  GOV. What did she tell you?

  ALICE. She told me that this Dell was enchanted, and forbade me
        to enter it.

  GOV. History repeats itself. It was the same in my case.

  ALICE. She told me of a child called Alice--and my name is Alice,
        too--and how the other Alice lived with her parents in Ivy
        Hall, where we are all living now; and my Governess told me
        how the other Alice disobeyed her Governess and came into
        this Dell, and how her parents never saw her again, and
        how they both died broken-hearted, for she was their only
        child, and was very dear to them. But I only laughed at her.

  GOV. Poor child! There will be no more laughter for you. _I_ am
        that other Alice.

_Enter FLIBBIE._

  FLIB. Oh, there you are, Governess! I’ll report you for leaving
        me during school time.

  GOV. (_to ALICE_). This is my pupil.

  FLIB. (_seeing ALICE_). Who’s this? What’s this? Why, it’s a
        mortal child! Oh, naughty, naughty! Haven’t you put your
        foot into it! (_dancing round her_). What fun, what fun!

  ALICE. Oh, let me go! (_To GOVERNESS_) Help me to get away.

_Enter HYACINTHIA with ATTENDANTS._

  HYA. No, Alice, that cannot be.

  ALICE (_to HYACINTHIA_). Who are _you_?

_FLIBBIE seats himself at the side and silently expresses his delight
during the following Trio._


No. 4.    THE PUNISHMENT.

(TRIO.--HYACINTHIA, FAIRY GOVERNESS, AND ALICE.)

[Music]

    RECIT.--HYACINTHIA.
    I am the Fai - ry of the Dell,
    And on it there’s a spell!
    A - lice! A - lice!
    You know a - bout it well.
    The words of your Go - ver - ness scorn - ing,
    And heed - less of her warn - ing,
    In - to my realms you’ve dared to stray,
    And the pe - nal - ty you must pay.

    ALICE.
    This is a dream, a ter - ri - ble dream,
    Ah! would that I could wake!

    HYACINTHIA.
    This is no dream, un - hap - py child!
    All hope you must for - sake!

    GOVERNESS (_to HYACINTHIA_).
    Oh! save her from the grief in store!
    Spare her, spare her, I im - plore!
    Spare her, spare her, I im - plore!

    HYACINTHIA (_to ALICE_)
    1. Your Go - ver - ness was good and kind,
    And pa - tient as could be;
    But ah! how good and kind she was
    You nev - er seemed to see.
    You al - ways did your ve - ry best
    To vex her in each way,
    And e’en the slight - est wish of hers,
    At once you’d dis - o - bey.
    Such bit - ter pain as you have caus’d,
    Now, A - lice, you shall know,
    And com - ing ’neath my ma - gic power,
    No mer - cy may I show.

    HYACINTHIA (_to ALICE_)
    2. Your dis - o - be - dience you will rue,
    Your pun - ish - ment is great;
    You’ll find it more than hard to bear,
    So lis - ten to your fate.
    From hence - forth it will be your task
    To try to teach this elf,
    Whom you will find as cru - el and
    As wil - ful as your - self.
    He’ll mock at you, and jeer at you,
    And vain - ly you’ll com - plain,
    And in this Dell as Go - ver - ness
    For ev - er you’ll re - main.

    {ALICE.    }
    {GOVERNESS.}
    Spare {me, } I im - plore!
          {her,}

    Oh, spare {me, } I im - plore!
              {her,}

    HYACINTHIA.
    No! in this Dell as Go - ver - ness,

    {HYACINTHIA.       }
    {GOVERNESS & ALICE.}
    {For  ev - er you’ll re - main.}
    {Oh, spare {her,} I im - plore!}
               {me, }

  FLIB. (_coming forward_). Well, this _has_ been a treat. I
        haven’t enjoyed myself so much for ever so long.

  ALICE (_to HYACINTHIA_). Oh, spare me!

  HYA. Why should you be spared? Did you spare your poor, patient
        Governess?

  ALICE. Bitterly, most bitterly do I repent my conduct. Ah! let me
        go back, and I will make up to her for the past.

  HYA. It is too late.

  FLIB. (_to ALICE_). Cry-Baby!

  GOV. Shame on you, Flibbie! How unkind you are!

  ALICE. And am I to remain in this Dell for ever?

  HYA. For ever.

  ALICE. Shall I never again see my parents, nor my sisters and
        brother?

  HYA. Never!

  FLIB. Nor your pet rabbit, Cry-Baby.

  GOV. Flibbie, how heartless you are! And besides, how do you
        know that she has a pet rabbit?

  FLIB. She looks that sort of girl.

  HYA. (_to ALICE_). All that you hold dear is forfeited.

  ALICE. Spare me! Forgive me!

  HYA. I _would_ spare you, I _would_ forgive you, but I am
        powerless to do so, except under one condition.

  ALICE. Oh, what is it? I promise faithfully to perform any
        condition.

  HYA. I may not tell you. It is a secret entrusted to me, and
        only to me, by the Queen of the Fairies.

  GOV. (_to HYACINTHIA_). Mistress, have pity! Long, long ago,
        when I was a mortal child I disobeyed my Governess and
        came into Hyacinth Dell. For all these weary years I have
        borne the bitter punishment of being Governess to this
        Elf. I have lost every happiness, and there only remains
        the memory of the bright and golden days of my childhood
        to make me more unhappy still. Ah! do not doom poor Alice
        to such a fate as mine. I know that by the laws of Fairy
        Land the coming of this mortal child releases me from my
        dreadful post. I know that she will have to fill this, and
        that I shall be appointed to a lighter punishment; but
        rather than that she should suffer as I have suffered, ah!
        let me remain still a Governess, and set Alice free!

  HYA. All your pleadings would have been in vain, but you
        yourself, unknowingly, have fulfilled the condition. Your
        loving words of self-denial have broken the charm, and
        Alice is free.

  ALICE. Free!

  FLIB. Oh, I _am_ sorry! I was _so_ looking forward to having a
        Cry-Baby for a new Governess. I’d have given her something
        to cry for. Never mind! I’ll give the old Governess a worse
        time of it.

  ALICE (_to FLIBBIE_). You horrid little monster! (_To GOVERNESS_)
        Oh, but this is too terrible! How can I leave you to all
        this misery, and for my sake? I should always be thinking
        of you. No! you shall not make this sacrifice for me. (_To
        HYACINTHIA_) Fairy, forget what she has said, and give me
        my punishment!

  HYA. No, Alice, that cannot be, for the charm is broken! But be
        comforted, for there is also happiness for her who has
        restored you your happiness. (_To GOVERNESS_) Once having
        been made a Fairy, you must always remain a Fairy, but the
        memory of the days when you were a mortal child shall fade
        away, and only glad thoughts shall be yours. You have aged
        beneath your constant cares, but a Governess no longer, be
        young once more, and let a bright raiment be in keeping
        with your Future!

_HYACINTHIA waves her wand and a change comes over the FAIRY GOVERNESS.
She is now young looking, and she wears a glittering dress._

  HYA. (_to GOVERNESS_). I appoint you to be Alice’s Good Fairy;
        to watch over her, and to guide her lovingly all through
        her life.

  ALICE (_to GOVERNESS_). Ah! how beautiful you are, and as good as
        you are beautiful!

  HYA. Look your last on her, Alice, for you will never see her
        again. When you have left Hyacinth Dell she will be
        invisible to you, but she will always be with you, and you
        will only _feel_ her presence.

  FLIB. And what about _me_? Without any Governess to tease and
        torment, life won’t be worth living.

  HYA. Then, Flibbie, I will make it worth living. Your nature
        shall change, and, from being the most wilful and perverse
        Elf in Fairy Land, in future all the other Elves will look
        upon you as a model of obedience, sweetness, and goodness,
        in your new appointment as _aide-de-camp_ to Alice’s Good
        Fairy.

  FLIB. (_to GOVERNESS_). For the last time ask me to spell
        something!

  GOV. (_laughing_). No, Flibbie; you are sure to make a mistake
        on purpose. I know your tricks.

  FLIB. Ask me to spell “A phenomenally exquisite Dear.”

  HYA. What a big word for such a little thing.

  ALICE. I half think I couldn’t _pronounce_ that long word.
        It must be at least twelve syllables; and I certainly
        altogether think that no one could spell it.

  FLIB. (_to ALICE_). I beg your pardon! _I_ can. (_To_ GOVERNESS)
        Please, ask me to spell “A phenomenally exquisite Dear.”

  GOV. Oh, Flibbie, Flibbie, I know perfectly well that you’ll
        spell “phenomenally” with an F instead of with P H; and
        “exquisite” with K S, instead of with an X; and as to
        “Dear,” there are two ways of spelling it, and I don’t know
        which one you mean.

  FLIB. Please, ask me to spell it.

  GOV. Very well, then. Spell “A phenomenally exquisite Dear.”

  FLIB. (_embracing her_). Now hear me spell it, quite correctly,
        and in _one_ letter.

  GOV. In _one_ letter, Flibbie?

  FLIB. U.


No. 5.    FINALE.

(HYACINTHIA, FAIRY GOVERNESS, FLIBBIE, AND ALICE.)

[Music]

    FLIBBIE (_to GOVERNESS_).
    I’m your hum - ble slave!
    You’ll see in fu - ture how well I’ll be - have.

    GOVERNESS.
    I’m sure of that.

    FLIBBIE.
    For my bad con - duct your par - don I crave.

    GOVERNESS.
    Is there good rea - son why for that you should ask?

    FLIBBIE.
    Yes!

    GOVERNESS.
    No! To be naughty was your du - ty, and you well performed your task.

    HYACINTHIA.
    Dear A - lice, ne’er we’ll meet again,
    And now you may de - part;
    I’m sure this les - son will re - main
    For ev - er in your heart.

    ALICE (_to_ GOVERNESS).
    Oh, Fai - ry! words I cannot find
    To tell my thanks to you;
    Your kind - ness I will bear in mind,
    For all my lifetime through.

    {HYACINTHIA,                   }
    {GOVERNESS, FLIBBIE, AND ALICE.}
    Oh! nev - er {you’ll} for - get the day
                 { I’ll }

    That brought {you} to this Dell;
                 { me}

    No long - er here must {you} de - lay,
                           { I }

    {So  }
    {I’ll} hast - en home, Farewell!

    No long - er here must {you} de - lay,
                           { I }

    {So  }
    {I’ll} hast - en home, Fare - well!





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No.
989, December 10, 1898, by Various

*** 