of beautiful paintings
of landscapes and flowers by them executed; of songs they could sing
and pieces they could play, of purses they could net, of French books
they could translate; till my spirit was moved to emulation as I
listened. Besides, school would be a complete change: it implied a long
journey, an entire separation from Gateshead, an entrance into a new
life. “I should indeed like to go to school,” was the audible conclusion of
my musings. “Well, well! who knows what may happen?” said Mr. Lloyd, as he got up. “The child ought to have change of air and scene,” he added, speaking
to himself; “nerves not in a good state.” Bessie now returned; at the same moment the carriage was heard rolling
up the gravel-walk. “Is that your mistress, nurse?” asked Mr. Lloyd. “I should like to
speak to her before I go.” Bessie invited him to walk into the breakfast-room, and led the way
out. In the interview which followed between him and Mrs. Reed, I
presume, from after-occurrences, that the apothecary ventured to
recommend my being sent to school; and the recommendation was no doubt
readily enough adopted; for as Abbot said, in discussing the subject
with Bessie when both sat sewing in the nursery one night, after I was
in bed, and, as they thought, asleep, “Missis was, she dared say, glad
enough to get rid of such a tiresome, ill-conditioned child, who always
looked as if she were watching everybody, and scheming plots
underhand.” Abbot, I think, gave me credit for being a sort of
infantine Guy Fawkes. On that same occasion I learned, for the first time, from Miss Abbot’s
communications to Bessie, that my father had been a poor clergyman;
that my mother had married him against the wishes of her friends, who
considered the match beneath her; that my grandfather Reed was so
irritated at her disobedience, he cut her off without a shilling; that
after my mother and father had been married a year, the latter caught
the typhus fever while visiting among the poor of a large manufacturing
town where his curacy was situated, and where that disease was then
prevalent: that my mother took the infection from him, and both died
within a month of each other. Bessie, when she heard this narrative, sighed and said, “Poor Miss Jane
is to be pitied, too, Abbot.” “Yes,” responded Abbot; “if she were a nice, pretty child, one might
compassionate her forlornness; but one really cannot care for such a
little toad as that.”"Not a great deal, to be sure," agreed Bessie: "at any rate, a beauty like Miss Georgiana would be more moving in the same condition."

"Yes, I doat on Miss Georgiana!" cried the fervent Abbot. "Little darling!—with her long curls and her blue eyes, and such a sweet colour as she has; 

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