morning walk.

The hands, stealing their steady way round the dial of the clock,
pointed to ten minutes to nine. Another member of the family appeared on
the stairs--Miss Garth, the governess.

No observant eyes could have surveyed Miss Garth without seeing at once
that she was a north-countrywoman. Her hard featured face; her masculine
readiness and decision of movement; her obstinate honesty of look and
manner, all proclaimed her border birth and border training. Though
little more than forty years of age, her hair was quite gray; and she
wore over it the plain cap of an old woman. Neither hair nor head-dress
was out of harmony with her face--it looked older than her years: the
hard handwriting of trouble had scored it heavily at some past time.
The self-possession of her progress downstairs, and the air of habitual
authority with which she looked about her, spoke well for her position
in Mr. Vanstone's family. This was evidently not one of the forlorn,
persecuted, pitiably dependent order of governesses. Here was a woman
who lived on ascertained and honorable terms with her employers--a woman
who looked capable of sending any parents in England to the right-about,
if they failed to rate her at her proper value.

"Breakfast at ten?" repeated Miss Garth, when the footman had answered
the bell, and had mentioned his master's orders. "Ha! I thought what
would come of that concert last night. When people who live in the
country patronize public amusements, public amusements return the
compliment by upsetting the family afterward for days together. _You're_
upset, Thomas, I can see your eyes are as red as a ferret's, and your
cravat looks as if you had slept in it. Bring the kettle at a quarter to
ten--and if you don't get better in the course of the day, come to me,