In the breakfast-room of a house on Mt. Vernon Street sat two persons with whom it is necessary that we should become acquainted.

The first is a gentleman of perhaps forty-five, rather stout, and with a pleasant expression of countenance. He has finished his cup of coffee, and taken up the morning paper,[126] which he scans carefully, more especially those parts relating to business.

At the opposite side of the table is a young lady of ten, with mirthful black eyes, and very red cheeks, which are well set off by her black hair. Altogether, she is very handsome, a fact of which she is not altogether unconscious. She is lively, fresh, original, and impulsive, not under very much restraint, but with an excellent disposition and kindly feelings, which do not allow her to go very far wrong. Yet it must be confessed that thus far her education has been sadly neglected, so that, as far as learning goes, she probably knows less than most girls two years younger.

The room, in which the father and daughter were seated, is tastefully furnished with that regard to comfort which is found in our American houses.

The two whom we have thus introduced are Benjamin Bowman, a wealthy merchant, and his daughter Bertha, though, in that shortening of names which is apt to take place in a family, hers has been shortened to Bert,[127] which she appears to prefer to the longer and more strictly feminine name.

"Papa," she said, pushing away her plate, "you ain't good company at all."

"Thank you for the compliment, Bert," he said.

"But you're not, though. There you are wearing out your eyes over that stupid paper, and leaving me to talk to myself or Topsy. Here, Topsy, isn't it so?"

At this summons a kitten, black as the ace of spades, and very much addicted to fun and frolic, jumped into the lap of her young mistress, and purred a noisy acquiescence.

"There," said Bert, triumphantly, "Topsy says I am right. I don't know what I should do without Topsy."

"She makes a very suitable companion for you, Bert," said Mr. Bowman, smiling.

"Why?" asked the cat's mistress, suspiciously.

"Because you can sympathize so well. Both are equally mischievous, and it is very difficult to tell which knows the most of books."

[128]

"Now, papa, that is a slander. I will sue you for libel."

"On your own account, or the kitten's?" asked Mr. Bowman. "I really don't know which I have done injustice to."

"Now you are laughing at me, papa. I know you are."

"Not entirely, Bert. The fact is, you are terribly ignorant for one of your age."

"I suppose I am," said Bert, shaking her head in comic despair.

"You'll grow up with no more knowledge than a Hottentot."

"Don't they have any schools among the Hottentots?"

"I suppose not."

"How delightful that must be! Why can't we move out where they live?"

"I don't know but we shall have to," said her father, "as, hereabouts, young ladies are expected to know something about books. But that reminds me I don't know but I shall succeed in engaging a governess for you to-day."

[129]

"A governess to-day!" exclaimed Bert, in dismay.

"Yes. I have made an appointment with a lady to call here at nine o'clock, and, if I am satisfied with her, I intend to engage her."

"And if I am satisfied with her," added Bert.

"Is that essential?" asked her father, smiling.............