With me, at her age, or under, neglect and disgrace were the most dreadful of punishments; but on her they made no impression. Sometimes, exasperated to the utmost pitch, I would shake her violently by the shoulder, or pull her long hair, or put her in the corner; for which she punished me with loud, shrill, piercing screams, that went through my head like a knife. She knew I hated this, and when she had shrieked her utmost, would look into my face with an air of vindictive satisfaction, exclaiming,—“Now, then! that’s for you!” and then shriek again and again, till I was forced to stop my ears. Often these dreadful cries would bring Mrs. Bloomfield up to inquire what was the matter?
“Mary Ann is a naughty girl, ma’am.”
“But what are these shocking screams?”
“She is screaming in a passion.”
“I never heard such a dreadful noise! You might be killing her. Why is she not out with her brother?”
“I cannot get her to finish her lessons.”
“But Mary Ann must be a good girl, and finish her lessons.” This was blandly spoken to the child. “And I hope I shall never hear such terrible cries again!”
And fixing her cold, stony eyes upon me with a look that could not be mistaken, she would shut the door, and walk away. Sometimes I would try to take the little obstinate creature by surprise, and casually ask her the word while she was thinking of something else; frequently she would begin to say it, and then suddenly check herself, with a provoking look that seemed to say, “Ah! I’m too sharp for you; you shan’t trick it out of me, either.”
On another occasion, I pretended to forget the whole affair; and talked and played with her as usual, till night, when I put her to bed; then bending over her, while she lay all smiles and good humour, just before departing, I said, as cheerfully and kindly as before—“Now, Mary Ann, just tell me that word before I kiss you good-night. You are a good girl now, and, of course, you will say it.”
“No, I won’t.”