ay profaned) Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," in the elocutionary
interests of Master Freddy. Half of Mark Antony's first glorious speech
over Caesar's dead body he had learned by heart; and it was now my duty
to teach him, to the best of my small ability, how to speak it. The
morning was warm. We had our big window open; the delicious perfume of
flowers in the garden beneath filled the room.

I recited the first eight lines, and stopped there feeling that I must
not exact too much from the boy at first. "Now, Freddy," I said, "try if
you can speak the poetry as I have spoken it."

"Don't do anything of the kind, Freddy," said a voice from the garden;
"it's all spoken wrong."

Who was this insolent person? A man unquestionably--and, strange to
say, there was something not entirely unfamiliar to me in his voice.
The girls began to giggle. Their brother was more explicit. "Oh," says
Freddy, "it's only Mr. Sax."

The one becoming course to pursue was to take no notice of the
interruption. "Go on," I said. Freddy recited the lines, like a dear
good boy, with as near an imitation of my style of elocution as could be
expected from him.

"Poor devil!" cried the voice from the garden, insolently pitying my
attentive pupil.

I imposed silence on the girls by a look--and then, without stirring
from my chair, expressed my sense of the insolence of Mr. Sax in clear
and commanding tones. "I shall be obliged to close the window if this is
repeated." Having spoken to that effect, I waited in expectation of an
apology. Silence was the only apology. It was enough for me that I had
produced the right impression. I went on with my recitation.

"Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest
(For Brutus is an honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men),
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me--"

"Oh, good heavens, I can't stand _that!_ Why don't you speak the last
line properly? Listen to me."

Dignity is a valuable quality, especially in a governess. But there
are limits to the most highly trained endurance. I bounced out into
the balcony--and there, on the terrace, smoking a cigar, was my lost
stranger in the streets of Sandwich!

He recognized me, on his side, the instant I appeared. "Oh, Lord!" he
cried in tones of horror, and ran round the corner of the terrace as if
my eyes had been mad bulls in close pursuit of him. By this ti