And Mr.
Andrewes says he's young.

And he says he's good-natured; but then what makes him use whips?
And his name is Mr.Gray.And he says the other little boy was very fond of him, but I don't believe it," I continued, breaking down at this point into tears, "and they've gone abroad (sobs) and I wish--boohoo! boohoo--they'd taken _him_!" With some trouble Nurse Bundle found out the meaning of my rather obscure speech.

Her wrath at the thought of a whip in connection with her darling was quite as great as my own.

But she persisted in taking a hopeful view of Mr.Gray, and trusting loyally to my father's judgment, and she succeeded in softening my grief for the time.
When I came down to dessert that evening I pretended to be quite happy and comfortable, and to have nothing on my mind.

But happily few children are clever at pretending what is not true, and as I was constantly thinking about "that dreadful tutor," and puzzling over the scraps of conversation I had heard to see if anything more could be made out of them, my father soon found out that something was amiss.
"What is the matter, Regie ?" he asked.
"Nothing, Father," I replied, with a very poor imitation of cheerfulness and no approach to truth.
"My dear boy," said my father, frowning slightly (a thing I always dreaded), "do not say what is untrue, for any reason.