s it is we have been out too
long, come back, pray do;" but Edith was resolute, and ran on. Emilie,
who knew her pupil's self-will over a German lesson, although she had
little experience of her temper in other matters, was beginning to
despair of persuading her, and spoke yet more earnestly and firmly,
though still kindly and gently, but in vain. Edith had jumped over the
stile, and was on her way to the cliff, when her course was arrested by
an old sailor, who was sitting on a bench near the gangway leading to
the shore. He had heard the conversation between the governess and her
headstrong pupil, as he smoked his pipe on this favourite seat, and
playfully caught hold of the skirt of the young lady's frock, as she
passed, to Edith's great indignation.

"Now, Miss, I could not, no, that I could'nt, refuse any one who asked
me so pretty as that lady did you. If she had been angry, and commanded
you back, why bad begets bad, and tit for tat you know, and I should
not so much have wondered: but, Miss, you should not vex her. No, don't
be angry with an old man, I have seen so much of the evils of young
folks taking their own way. Look here, young lady," said the weather
beaten sailor, as he pointed to a piece of crape round his hat; "this
comes of being fond of one's own way."

Edith was arrested, and approached the stile, on the other side of which
Emilie Schomberg still leant, listening to the fisherman's talk with her
pupil.

"You see, Miss," said he, "I have brought her round, she were a little
contrary at first, but the squall is over, and she is going home your
way. Oh, a capital good rule, that of your's, Miss!" "What," said Emilie
smiling, "Why, that 'soft answer,' that kind way. I see a good deal of
the ways of nurses with children, ah, and of governesses, and mothers,
and fathers too, as I sit about on the sea shore, mending my nets. I
ain't fit for much else now, you see, Miss, though I have seen a deal of
service, and as I sit sometimes watching the little ones playing on the
sand, and with the shingle, I keep my ears open, for I can't bear to see
children grieved, and sometimes I put in a word to the nurse maids.
Bless me! to see how some of 'em whip up the children in the midst of
their play. Neither with your leave, nor by your leave; 'here, come
along, you dirty, naughty boy, here's a wet frock! Come, this minute,
you tiresome child, it's dinner time.' Now that ain't what I call fair
play, Miss. I say yo