He missed the boy sadly at first, but comforted himself with the conviction that he had parted with him for his good: that consoled him somewhat. The younger children of Sir Charles and Lady Bassett were educated entirely by their mother, and taught as none but a loving lady can teach. Compton, with whom we have to do, never knew the thorns with which the path of letters is apt to be strewn. A mistress of the great art of pleasing made knowledge from the first a primrose path to him. Sparkling all over with intelligence, she impregnated her boy with it. She made herself his favorite companion; she would not keep her distance. She stole and coaxed knowledge and goodness into his heart and mind with rare and loving cunning. She taught him English and French and Latin on the Hamiltonian plan, and stored his young mind with history and biography, and read to him, and conversed with him on everything as they read it. She taught him to speak the truth, and to be honorable and just. She taught him to be polite, and even formal, rather than free-and-easy and rude. She taught him to be a man. He must not be what brave boys called a molly-coddle: like most womanly women, she had a veneration for man, and she gave him her own high idea of the manly character. Natural ability, and habitual contact with a mind so attractive and so rich, gave this intelligent boy many good ideas beyond his age. When he was six years old, Lady Bassett made him pass his word of honor that he would never go into the stable-yard; and even then he was far enough advanced to keep his word religiously. In return for this she let him taste some sweets of liberty, and was not always after him. She was profound enough to see that without liberty a noble character cannot be formed; and she husbanded the curb. One day he represented to her that, in the meadow next their lawn, were great stripes of yellow, which were possibly cowslips; of course they might be only buttercups, but he hoped better things of them; he further reported that there was an iron gate between him and this paradise: he could get over it if not objectionable; but he thought it safest to ask her what she thought of the matter; was that iron gate intended to keep little boys from the cowslips, because, if so, it was a misfortune to which he must resign himself. Still, it _was_ a misfortune. All this, of course, in the simple language of boyhood. Then Lady Bassett smiled, and said, “Suppose I were to lend you a key of that iron gate?” “Oh, mamma!” “I have a great mind to.” “Then you will, you will.” “Does that follow?” “Yes: whenever you say you think you'll do something kind, or you have a great mind to do it, you know you always do it; and that is one thing I do like you for, mamma--you are better than your word.” “Better than my word? Where does the child learn these things?” “La, mamma, papa says that often.”