such doubts," he said, hastily. "My friends assure me that you are in every way admirably qualified for the post. I have already devoted much more time than I can spare to this matter of a governess, and if—" His eyes turned again to his desk and lingered yearningly on the papers there.
Mademoiselle Verrier rose with a sigh.
"If you wish, we will at least try it," she said, without enthusiasm. "My boxes they are here. I will do the best I can."
The professor's face expressed a quiet gratification, as he too rose, adjusting his plump little burden against his shoulder.
"Thank you," he said. "I will carry Hildegarde to her nursery. While she is asleep you may wish to unpack and look at your new surroundings. Will you come with us?"
He crossed the room as he spoke, and as she followed him the governess made a mental note of his age and appearance. He was nearly fifty, she decided. She observed dispassionately his gray hair, the stoop of his thin shoulders, the carelessness of his attire, and the ascetic cast of his features. With more approval, she noticed the care with which he bore the sleeping child. Nevertheless, there was little of the paternal in him, she reflected. He was doing his duty as he conceived it; but it seemed plain that in his daughter's present undeveloped state she interested him much less than the scientific experiments that filled his life. It was quite evident that for days at a time he wholly forgot both Hildegarde and his theories concerning her education. Another characteristic seemed equally evident—a certain dogged resolution that was a strange element in his gentle nature. It would not be easy to change his theories on any subject he had deeply at heart.
The nursery was a large, light, and pleasant room, whose two great windows looked out upon a lake, wooded to its edge. Here, at least, there was no evidence of austere training, or of a lack of the normal interests of childhood. A long procession of brilliantly colored animals stood motionless against the wall, apparently awaiting but the word to begin their march into the great barn in a distant corner. Colored balls and blocks of every description lay on the polished floor, with numerous pictures and nature-books. Later, Mademoiselle Verrier learned how carefully these books had been selected and how wholly they were in accord with the professor's ideas, but to-day she failed to realize this, and abandoned herself joyfully to the child-like atmosphere of the place.
As the days passed they brought the reassuring discovery that however much her sympathetic elders might suffer over her lonely lot, the contemplation of her state brought no grief to the breast of Hildegarde. She was an exceedingly normal child, though "of an activity," as Mademoiselle Verrier confided to the cook, and this activity took startling forms.
Whatever life might be in the Seymour household, it was not dull. To follow Hildegarde about was in itself an exciting occupation, and constant vigilance was required to prevent her from leaving a long train of devastation in her wake. She was never still except when she was in bed. She imitated everything she saw. Few things were forbidden her, and her intrepid spirit stopped at nothing that suggested novelty or danger. Her curiosity was insatiable, and her originality in the matter of experiments could by no chance have been inherited from less distinguished ancestry than her own. Moreover, she dragged with her into the perils she invited hapless beings too young and weak to resist the temptations she spread before them. Virtuous children in the neighborhood fled from their homes and cast off their parents, so to speak, for the sake of an adventure with Hildegarde. Those who returned told their friends wonderful tales of their experience, with the result that the hedge around the Seymour grounds usually bore a frieze of children's heads looking yearningly into the forbidden paradise.
Hildegarde was not allowed to play with other children. Other parents naturally met this command with equally imperative commands to their own. The result was inevitable. Strange holes existed at points of the hedge, at strategical distance from the Seymour house, and small boys and girls, crawling humbly on their stomachs, came and went. Hildegarde received them all with hos-
