andlord, yet he could
get at the people much better, and learn their own point of view of
what was good for them. They were beginning to idolise him; for,
indeed, there was a fascination about him which no one could resist. I
sometimes wondered what it was, considering that he was so slow of
speech, and had so little sunshine of mirth about him.

I never did enforce my title of Aunt, in spite of Miss Woolmer's
advice. It sounded too ridiculous, and would have hindered the
sisterly feeling that held us together.

Eustace was restless and vexed at not being called upon, and anxious to
show himself on any occasion, and I was almost equally anxious to keep
him back, out of reach of mortification. Both he and Harold went to
London on business, leaving Dora with me. The charge was less severe
than I expected. My first attempts at teaching her had been frustrated
by her scorn of me, and by Harold's baffling indulgence; but one day,
when they had been visiting one of the farms, the children had been
made to exhibit their acquirements, which were quite sufficient to
manifest Dora's ignorance. Eustace had long declared that if she would
not learn of me she must either have a governess or go to school, and I
knew she was fit for neither. Harold, I believe, now enforced the
threat, and when he went away, left her a black silk necktie to be
hemmed for him, and a toy book with flaming illustrations, with an
assurance that on her reading it to him on his return, depended his
giving her a toy steam-engine.

Dora knew that Harold kept his word, even with her. I think she had a
great mind to get no one's assistance but the kitchenmaid's, but this
friendship was abruptly terminated by Dora's arraying the kangaroo in
Sarah's best bonnet and cloak, and launching it upon a stolen interview
between her and her sweetheart. The screams brought all the house
together, and, as the hero was an undesirable party who had been
forbidden the house, Sarah viewed it as treachery on Miss Dora's part,
and sulked enough to alienate her.

Dora could make out more to herself in a book than she could read
aloud, and one day I saw her spelling over the table of degrees of
marriage in a great folio Prayer-Book, which she had taken down in
quest of pictures. Some time later in the day, she said, "Lucy, are
you Harry's father's sister?" and when I said yes, she added, with a
look of discovery, "A man cannot marry his father's sister."

It was no t