er that. Who took charge of you?"

"My mother's sister took charge of me, an elder sister, who kept a
school. The time when I was most unhappy was the time when my aunt began
to teach me. 'If you don't want to be beaten, and kept on bread and
water,' she said, 'learn, you ugly little wretch, and be quick about
it."'

"Did she speak in that shameful way to the other girls?"

"Oh, no! I was taken into her school for nothing, and, young as I was,
I was expected to earn my food and shelter by being fit to teach the
lowest class. The girls hated me. It was such a wretched life that
I hardly like to speak of it now. I ran away, and I was caught, and
severely punished. When I grew older and wiser, I tried to find some
other employment for myself. The elder girls bought penny journals that
published stories. They were left about now and then in the bedrooms. I
read the stories when I had the chance. Even my ignorance discovered how
feeble and foolish they were. They encouraged me to try if I could write
a story myself; I couldn't do worse, and I might do better. I sent my
manuscript to the editor. It was accepted and printed--but when I wrote
and asked him if he would pay me something for it, he refused. Dozens
of ladies, he said, wrote stories for him for nothing. It didn't matter
what the stories were. Anything would do for his readers, so long as the
characters were lords and ladies, and there was plenty of love in it.
My next attempt to get away from the school ended in another
disappointment. A poor old man, who had once been an actor, used to come
to us twice a week, and get a few shillings by teaching the girls to
read aloud. He was called 'Professor of English Literature,' and he
taught out of a ragged book of verses which smelled of his pipe. I
learned one of the pieces and repeated it to him, and asked if there was
any hope of my being able to go on the stage. He was very kind; he told
me the truth. 'My dear, you have no dramatic ability; God forbid you
should go on the stage.' I went back again to the penny journals, and
tried a new editor. He seemed to have more money than the other one; or
perhaps he was kinder. I got ten shillings from him for my story. With
that money I made my last attempt--I advertised for a situation as
governess. If Mr. Linley had not seen my advertisement, I might have
starved in the streets. When my aunt heard of it, she insisted on my
begging her pardon before the whole school. Do girls