Black, born shortly before the accession of Lloyd George, witnessed the ascent of the first aeroplane, and took a prominent part in the famous raid by Suffragettes on the House of Commons.” A correlated introduction would, I imagine, be made like this: “Miss Black, a descendant of the Black Prince, has crossed the Black Sea twice, wears black stockings, and is interested in nigger minstrelsy.” My whole sympathy is with that little boy who, having learned the anatomy of the snowdrop, washed-in the snowdrop in bold outline, modelled the snowdrop, sung a song about the snowdrop, found on the map the different countries where it grew, and learned the best of those passages in literature where it is mentioned, at last flung the detestable little flower to the ground, exclaiming heartily, “Damn the snowdrop!” _CHAPTER IX_: THE SCHOOLROOM When Tom was seven and Anne nine, I decided to engage a governess. I had never lost the feeling of--shall we call it respect--that I had felt for my own governess; one does not lose a feeling like respect in ten years. Therefore, when I found myself interviewing a governess for some one else, I felt rather like a sheep engaging a butcher. You can picture the scene. A small office adjoining the shambles. The sheep, arrayed in all the panoply of its natural wool unshorn for many years, the place where the branded mark had been covered with a self-possessed growth, seated at a small table writing. The pen a fancy article in the humorous disguise of a knife. “Well, Mr. Jones,” says the trembling, bleating voice. “Do you kill yourself, or do you purchase the--er--the carcasses? You were in your last shop how many years? Precisely--very painful--thank you. You left on account of an outbreak of anthrax amongst the lambs--quite so. Yes, you would have the dip to yourself after ten o’clock. The slaughter-house is next door to your room, and there is a convenient tannery within ten minutes’ walk kept by an excellent ogre with moderate charges; we are devoted to him. I will send the cart to the station for you on Tuesday, and you will be able to begin your rounds at once.” I lost this feeling after I had been to one or two agencies, and I felt instead like the man with a whip, who took over the plantation from the kind master in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Innocent old ladies with white wool on their heads and Bibles in their pockets came to offer their services as educational drudges, prepared to expose their pathetic cashmere backs to the lash of childish criticism and motherly arrogance. I wanted to engage them all just to ensure their being out of reach of some women I knew. I would then leave them my house, and fly with Tom and Anne to some desert island where we never need employ anyone or improve our minds again.