“There now,” cried Tom, triumphantly, looking up from his viands with his mouth almost too full for speech. “There now, Miss Grey! you see I’ve got my supper in spite of you: and I haven’t picked up a single thing!”
The only person in the house who had any real sympathy for me was the nurse; for she had suffered like afflictions, though in a smaller degree; as she had not the task of teaching, nor was she so responsible for the conduct of her charge.
“Oh, Miss Grey!” she would say, “you have some trouble with them childer!”
“I have, indeed, Betty; and I daresay you know what it is.”
“Ay, I do so! But I don’t vex myself o’er ’em as you do. And then, you see, I hit ’em a slap sometimes: and them little ’uns—I gives ’em a good whipping now and then: there’s nothing else will do for ’em, as what they say. Howsoever, I’ve lost my place for it.”
“Have you, Betty? I heard you were going to leave.”
“Eh, bless you, yes! Missis gave me warning a three wik sin”. She told me afore Christmas how it mud be, if I hit ’em again; but I couldn’t hold my hand off ’em at nothing. I know not how you do, for Miss Mary Ann’s worse by the half nor her sisters!”
CHAPTER V.
THE UNCLE
Besides the old lady, there was another relative of the family, whose visits were a great annoyance to me—this was “Uncle Robson,” Mrs. Bloomfield’s brother; a tall, self-sufficient fellow, with dark hair and sallow complexion like his sister, a nose that seemed to disdain the earth, and little grey eyes, frequently half-closed, with a mixture of real stupidity and affected contempt of all surrounding objects. He was a thick-set, strongly-built man, but he had found some means of compressing his waist into a remarkably small compass; and that, together with the unnatural stillness of his form, showed that the lofty-minded, manly Mr. Robson, the scorner of the female sex, was not above the foppery of stays. He seldom deigned to notice me; and, when he did, it was with a certain supercilious insolence of tone and manner that convinced me he was no gentleman: though it was intended to have a contrary effect. But it was not for that I disliked his coming, so much as for the harm he did the children—encouraging all their evil propensities, and undoing in a few minutes the little good it had taken me months of labour to achieve.
Fanny and little Harriet he seldom condescended to notice; but Mary Ann was something of a favourite. He was continually encouraging her tendency to affectation (which I had done my utmost to crush), talking about her pretty face, and filling her head with all manner of conceited notions concerning her personal appearance (which I had instructed her to regard as dust in the balance compared with the cultivation of her mind and manners); and I never saw a child so susceptible of flattery as she was. Whatever was wrong, in either her or her brother, he would encourage by laughing at, if not by actually praising: people little know the injury they do to children by laughing at their faults, and making a pleasant jest of what their true friends have endeavoured to teach them to hold in grave abhorrence.