her," she added coaxingly. "Well, now, Miss Featherstone, as to
your role of governess: I don't feel as if you were to be anything but
my nice new friend, you were so kind last night to my dear little
Harry. You teach the common English branches and the rudiments of
Latin, French and music? Mr. Brown--is it not an odd name for such a
thorough Frenchman? but his father was English, although he was born
and educated in France--Mr. Brown teaches them Latin and French at
present, but I don't know how long I shall keep him; so you'll be
relieved of that. I shall want you to act as a friend in the
household--I'm so much of an invalid--sit at the head of the table
occasionally, and give orders to the servants."

Miss Featherstone looked slightly perplexed. Her duties as governess
were mingling in a distracting manner with those of housekeeper.

"The children are so young," Mrs. Pinckney said apologetically, "they
can't be kept at their lessons from morning till night. Rose is eleven,
Alfred nine, Dick seven. Harry might possibly learn his alphabet, but I
doubt it. You can arrange the hours and studies to suit yourself; and I
want you to govern and manage the children--relieve me in that way as
much as possible. I hope you'll be very comfortable and happy in my
house, Miss Featherstone. If there is anything out of the way in your
room or anywhere else, let me know. I'm sure we shall be good friends;"
and with a hearty, affectionate kiss she dismissed the governess.

As Miss Featherstone descended the stairs she met Doctor Harris,
gallant and gay, with a rose in his buttonhole, followed by the nurse
and child, on a visit of reassurance to the fair mother.

Nothing is truer than that homely old proverb, "The lame and the lazy
are always provided for;" and Mrs. Pinckney was provided for
effectually when she lit upon Miss Featherstone. Just before Christmas
the governess was summoned to an interview with Mrs. Pinckney, who was,
as usual, in bed: "Oh, my dear Miss Featherstone, I'm in despair--ill
again. Christmas coming, and my husband's brother, Colonel Pinckney, is
on his way to make us a visit. If there's any one I feel nervous and
fidgety before, it is Colonel Pinckney: he seems to look you through
and see all your faults and weaknesses: at least, he does mine, and he
makes me see them too, which I don't like one bit. I do the best I can:
I'm in such miserable health, and have had so much to break me down.
Did you ever know