dig some worms for bait."

"Yes," agreed Lucille, and added, "Parse _Smellie,_" whereupon, with
one voice and heart and purpose the twain broke into a paean, not of
praise--a kind of tribal lay, and chanted:--

"_Smellie_--Very common noun, absurd person, singular back number,
tutor gender, objectionable case governed by the word _I_," and so _da
capo_.

And yet the poor lady strove to do her duty in that station of life in
which it had pleased Providence (or a drunken father) to place
her--and to make the children "genteel". Had she striven to win their
love instead, her ministrations might have had some effect (other than
infinite irritation and bitter dislike).

She was the Compleat Governess, on paper, and all that a person
entrusted with the training of young children should not be, in
reality. She had innumerable and admirable testimonials from various
employers of what she termed "aristocratic standing"; endless
certificates that testified unto her successful struggles in Music,
Drawing, Needlework, German, French, Calisthenics, Caligraphy, and
other mysteries, including the more decorous Sciences (against
Physiology, Anatomy, Zoology, Biology, and Hygiene she set her face as
subjects apt to be, at times, improper), and an appearance and manner
themselves irrefragible proofs of the highest moral virtue.

She also had the warm and unanimous witness of the children at
Monksmead that she was a Beast.