"
"Don't want _whom_, my boy?"
"M-m-m-m-r. Gray," I sobbed.
"And who on earth is Mr. Gray, Regie?" inquired my perplexed parent.
"The tutor--the new tutor," I explained.
"But _whose_ new tutor?" cried the distracted gentleman, whose
confusion seemed in no way lessened when I added,
"Mine, Papa; the one you're going to get for me." And as no gleam of
intelligence yet brightened his puzzled face, I added, doubtfully,
"You are going to get one, aren't you, Papa?"
"What put this idea into your head, Regie?" asked my father, after a
pause.
And then I had to explain, feeling very uncomfortable as I did so, how
I had overheard a few words at the Rectory, and a few words more at
the lodge, and how I had patched my hearsays together and made out
that a certain little man was coming to be my tutor, who had
previously been tutor somewhere else, and that his name was Gray. And
all this time my father did not help me out a bit by word or sign. By
the time I had got to the end of my story of what I had heard, and
what I had guessed, and what Nurse Bundle and I had made out, I did
not need any one to tell me that to listen to what one is not intended
to hear is a thing to be ashamed of.
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