viously been tutor somewhere else, and that his name was Gray. And
all this time my father did not help me out a bit by word or sign. By
the time I had got to the end of my story of what I had heard, and
what I had guessed, and what Nurse Bundle and I had made out, I did
not need any one to tell me that to listen to what one is not intended
to hear is a thing to be ashamed of. My cheeks and ears were very red,
and I felt very small indeed.

"Now, Regie," said my father, "I won't say what I think about your
listening to Mr. Andrewes and me, in order to find out what I did not
choose to tell you. You shall tell me what you think, my boy. Do you
think it is a nice thing, a gentlemanly thing, upright, and honest,
and worthy of Papa's only son, to sneak about listening to what you
were not meant to hear. Now don't begin to cry, Reginald," he added,
rather sharply; "you have nothing to cry for, and it's either silly or
ill-tempered to whimper because I show you that you've done wrong.
Anybody may do wrong; and if you think that you have, why say you're
sorry, like a man, and don't do so any more."

I made a strong effort to restrain my tears of shame and vexation, and
said very heartily--

"I'm very sorry, Papa. I didn't think of it's being wrong."

"I quite believe that, my boy. But you see that it's not right now,
don't you?"

"Oh yes!" I exclaimed, "and I won't listen any more, father." We made
it up lovingly, Rubens flying frantically at our heads to join in the
kisses and reconciliation. He had been anxiously watching us, being
well aware that something was amiss.

"I don't mean to tell you what Mr. Andrewes and I _were_ talking
about," said my father, "because I did not wish you to hear. But I
will tell you that you made a very bad guess at the secret. We were
not talking of a tutor, or dreaming of one, and you have vexed
yourself for nothing. However, I think it serves you right for
listening. But we won't talk of that any more."

I do not think Nurse Bundle was disposed to blame me as much as I now
blamed myself; but she was invariably loyal to my father's decisions,
and never magnified her own indulgence in the nursery by pitying me if
I got into scrapes in the drawing-room.

"My dear," said she, "your Pa's a gentleman, every inch of him. You
listen to him, and try and do as he does, and you'll grow up just such
another, and be a pride and blessing to all about you."

But we both rejoiced that at any rate