On the whole Annette had little cause to complain. Her employers were stupid but not malicious. It never occurred to them that she might need a change from the society of her pupil. Annette was so young in years--younger still in mind--that they regarded her rather as a companion than as an instructress, and lost all idea of authority, so that Deedy, the child, was always playing her parents off against her governess. Annette used to weep many tears over her ineffectuality, but then, having a sense of humour, she would laugh at the idea of herself, who had never successfully learned anything, being paid to instruct another child in French, English grammar, orthography, arithmetic and algebra. She grew fond of Deedy, and Deedy's parents were affectionate with her, as, being kindly people, they would have been with any strange child staying in their house. They led a very quiet life in Westmoreland. Young people hardly ever came to stay with them, and their house was conducted with the regularity of Mr. Fender's office. Prayers were read by Mr. Fender at eight to the four servants on one side of the room and Annette on the other. Breakfast was at half-past. Lessons were from ten till one. Deedy had to be taken for a walk in the afternoon, generally up the beck, for she had a pool where dwelt a fairy and a hippogriff (inventions of Annette's) and loved to send written messages to them over the little waterfall. At six Deedy was taken to see her mother in the drawing-room, and Annette had a free hour. At seven Deedy was put to bed, and the rest of the day was Annette's unless she were desired to play to Mrs. Fender in the evening. It was a dull life, but it left much time for dreaming, and sometimes Deedy was very amusing. She had an eager prying curiosity and was much interested in God. "What's an only begotten son?" she asked one day. "It means the only one." "Am I only begotten?" "Yes." She thought for a very long time. Then: "Why didn't God get another one?" "Oh, Deedy. Hush!" "Why do you always say 'Hush' when I ask questions?" Annette laughed. "Because I don't know the answer." "Does anybody know? Does your father know?" "Yes." "How does he know?" "Because he's a clergyman." "Doesn't my father know?" "Perhaps he does." "I wish I wasn't only begotten." "I don't think it makes much difference." "I wish I had a brother like Serge." "I've never seen Serge, so, you see, it doesn't really make much difference." "You've never been only begotten, so you don't know, Miss Folyat."