little head is quite full of
something that bothers you very much. As I said, I will not press you,
but as I love you, and wish to help you in every way I can, I think
you had better tell me."

Now, though I had really not thought I was doing wrong in listening to
the conversation I was not meant to hear, a _something_ which one
calls conscience made me feel ashamed of the whole matter. I had a
feeling of being in the wrong, which is apt to make one vexed and
fretful, and it was this, quite as much as fear of my grave father,
which made the colour rush to my face, and the tears into my eyes.

"Come, Regie," he said, "out with it. Don't cry, whatever you do;
that's like a baby. Have you been doing something wrong? Tell me all
about it. Confession is half way to forgiveness. Don't be afraid of
me. For heaven's sake, don't be afraid of me!" added my father, with
impatient sadness, and the frown deepening so rapidly on his face that
my tears flowed in proportion.

(How sad are the helpless struggles of a widowed father with young
children, I could not then appreciate. How seldom successful is the
alternative of a second marriage, has become proverbial in excess of
the truth.)

My father was more patient than many men. He did not dismiss me and my
tears to the nursery in despair. With the insight and tenderness of a
mother he restrained himself, and unknitting his brows, held out both
his hands and said very kindly,

"Come and tell poor Papa all about it, my darling."

On which I jumped from my chair, and rushing up to him, threw my arms
about his neck and sobbed out, "Oh, Papa! Papa! I don't want him."

"Don't want _whom_, my boy?"

"M-m-m-m-r. Gray," I sobbed.

"And who on earth is Mr. Gray, Regie?" inquired my perplexed parent.

"The tutor--the new tutor," I explained.

"But _whose_ new tutor?" cried the distracted gentleman, whose
confusion seemed in no way lessened when I added,

"Mine, Papa; the one you're going to get for me." And as no gleam of
intelligence yet brightened his puzzled face, I added, doubtfully,
"You are going to get one, aren't you, Papa?"

"What put this idea into your head, Regie?" asked my father, after a
pause.

And then I had to explain, feeling very uncomfortable as I did so, how
I had overheard a few words at the Rectory, and a few words more at
the lodge, and how I had patched my hearsays together and made out
that a certain little man was coming to be my tutor, who had
pre