Chapter VI: Failure

MISS GREGSON never forgot the week that followed, neither indeed did a single member of the household.

Jane the housemaid gave warning. It was too much for her nerves, she declared.

Finding that they were not the docile little children that she had expected, Sheila soon gave up the idea of bathing them and putting them to bed herself, and had relinquished that duty to Jane; and the housemaid could scarcely stand the pinches and kicks that the children gave her, or the water they threw at her as she bathed them. They were utterly uncontrollable. As for the pretty paper in the West bedroom, the children had not been there two days before Jane discovered pencil marks on the wall by the window, and the names of the little visitors scratched on the white paint of the shutters.

James, the gardener, lost all patience with the boys; not only were the heads of his dahlias violently knocked off, but the green house was invaded by the rebels, and in trying to reach the grapes a window was broken and branches torn down. He confided to Jane that, if Miss Dennison was going to fill her house with such little vagabonds, he would follow her example and leave.

As for the cook! She "felt fit to cry to see the waste," she informed her fellow servants. The children wouldn't eat the nice hot broth she made for them, or the rice puddings which were good and wholesome, and the plates came down again and again only just touched. If there was jam or pastry they ate it fast enough. She called it "right wicked" to indulge them like this. They'd go home worse than they came; "but there now," she added, "Miss Dennison don't understand children and she means well by them."

Miss Gregson was still more unhappy at the failure of the girl's plan; for she knew it would not be long before she would lose patience and interest in the work, and of what would happen then, her chaperon had no conception.

Sheila was getting to look worried and bored. There had been one or two days when the children had been good, but these were generally followed by times of rebellion and misconduct, during which the girl plainly lost heart, and gradually she left the care of them to others.

One afternoon she suddenly informed Miss Gregson that she had quite forgotten an engagement she had made with a friend in a neighbouring village. She was so sorry but she could not put it off.

"You won't mind, will you, Angel clear, taking care of the children for an hour or two," she said. "One is in duty bound to keep appointments if possible, and Clara would be bitterly disappointed if I did not go."

"I will do my best," said Miss Gregson, "but you must forgive any catastrophe which may happen in your absence."

"You can manage them better than I can," said Sheila, "I'm not a bit afraid." So after luncheon she ordered the cart, and was only too thankful to get out of sight and sound of the children for a time.

Miss Gregson, left to her own resources, determined to strike out a new line for herself. She had a large table placed in the empty room at the top of the house, collected pencils and paper, and after letting the children have a good run in the garden, during which time they did as much mischief as they could manage, scattering mould on the nicely kept paths, and pulling up flowers which they thought to be weeds, Miss Gregson seated them round the table and gave them a drawing lesson.

For a time they were interested in what they were doing, though their poor teacher's head ached with the noise which she was quite powerless to stop. But before very long Tommy snatched Dick's pencil from him and received a great thump on his back in return. A free fight ensued. Dick, the eldest of the three boys, punched the delinquent's head, when he immediately set up a howl, the rest of the children crying in chorus. Jemmy was pushed down on to the floor, and it was all that Miss Gregson could do to extricate him from the fighting boys.

But what alarmed her more than anything else were the bad words that flew from one little mouth to another. She rang the bell violently; and was thankful to see the panting Jane standing at the door. Jane saw in a moment how matters stood. The tumblers of water had been knocked off the table and broken to pieces. Two of the boys were rolling on the floor kicking and hitting one another, while the three little girls stood looking on, sobbing at the sight of the broken glasses and torn drawings. Miss Gregson had Jemmy on her lap, drying his tears with her pocket handkerchief.

Jane managed to separate the fighting, struggling boys, administering at the same time sundry slaps on the miscreants.

"Hadn't they better go out into the garden, M'am?" she asked.

"Yes I think so," was the answer.

But Miss Gregson knew that unless someone was with them to mount guard further mischief would be done. Jane, who was a good-natured girl, volunteered to take them down and to see after them, and Angel, quite unstrung, was only too thankful. She went to her room and lay down on the sofa, saying she would not be disturbed till Miss Dennison returned for tea.

A soft knock awakened her. Sheila opened the door. She looked at the prostrate figure on the sofa with remorse, saying—

"Jane tells me you are quite overcome with the naughtiness of the children. I ought never to have left you. And certainly I should not have been so long away. I am so sorry."

Miss Gregson smiled. Sheila looked so truly penitent that though her chaperon agreed with her remarks she had not the heart to tell her so.

"I have had a nice rest," she said, "but the children surpassed themselves. I wonder, my dear, if you could not get someone in from the village to look after them for the last week."

The girl planted herself on the end of the sofa and surveyed her companion with grave eyes.

"I wonder on the other hand," she said, "if it would be perfectly horrible of me to send them away at once. I don't feel as if I can endure them another day."

"My dear," exclaimed Miss Gregson. "Just think what a terrible disappointment it would be to them all."

"But just think on the other hand what a terrible time we shall have with them! If only they were nicer children! They are little horrors."

"What can you expect from their bringing up? We should have thought of this before. How can children from homes where they probably only hear bad words and see drunken brawls, behave decently? And I must own I had quite a shock this afternoon. I have never heard such language! It was frightful."

"Oh, I know. They swear like grown up people. It's horrid."

"Poor little things! I feel we must do something to help them before they go away. I long to have a talk with them, but it takes all one's strength to keep them tolerably occupied. There seems no time to talk about better things. It must be done before they leave."

"Then it must be done to-night," said Sheila, "for I feel to be in a regular nightmare, and really I can hardly bear the sight of them. Do you suppose there are many such wicked children in the world? I have been appalled at the things they say."

"We can't let them go back without telling them of the Good Shepherd," said Miss Gregson softly.

"You are an angel," said Sheila, holding out her hand affectionately to her old governess. "You are only thinking of the children, and I am only thinking of myself. But you can understand how very humiliating it is to fail in this way. I hate to think of Peter knowing about it."

Miss Gregson took the proffered hand in her own.

"Tell me," said Sheila, "why it is I so often fail? This is the worst failure I have had. Why don't things go right?"

"I think, my dear, you did not count the cost before you invited these children, and did not make proper provision for them."

"Count the cost!"

"I mean you acted on the impulse of the moment and never thought what it would involve. The impulse was good, but it does not do to act on impulse alone. You wanted to do a real kindness, but I doubt as a matter of fact if it has proved anything of the sort. The children will go back the worse rather than the better, as far as I can see, for their visit. You see you consulted no one; and you are quite ignorant of the poor of London, and have no idea how much supervision these children really need if any good is to be done. I hope I am not discouraging you?"

"I feel fearfully discouraged, all the more as every word you say is true. I am afraid I am a creature of impulse. I wonder if I shall ever do anything that is worth doing. I know too that I have worn everyone out. I suppose you know Jane, nice Jane, has given warning."

"Yes, I know."

"And as for you, you are quite prostrate with it all, poor dear. I've been simply horrid not to take you into account. I don't seem to give pleasure to anyone."

"You can't say that, so long as I am with you," said Miss Gregson patting the girl's hand.

"I'm afraid," said Sheila, "that you don't think I really ought to send those children away."

"No, I don't. But it is no use keeping them if we do not make some effort to make them better than when they came. I should advise you to get in some nice woman who is used to children, to take the charge of them while they are here. That will set us free to do what we can to influence them aright."

"Oh, you must not expect me to do that," said Sheila, "it is quite beyond me. Besides I want doing good to myself. But you, dear Angel, will be able to talk to the children. I should like you to. But you look dreadfully tired. I reproach myself very much. However," she added suddenly with an amused twinkle in her eyes, "you have your dear little pilules to keep you company. Did you remember to take one after every shock you had, and was it ignatia this time or Bella Donna?" and with this she rose laughing, and danced out of the room.

"Will the child ever steady down!" sighed Miss Gregson.