“Tim—Tim—Tim!” cried Mrs Ruggles; and as she spoke, she looked at him sideways, her eyes gleaming sharply out of the corners. “You false man, you! but the more you try to screen her that way, the more I’ll punish. How many times does this make that I’ve found you out?”
“Times—found out?” stammered Tim.
“Yes—times found out,” retorted Mrs Ruggles. “But I’ll have no more of it, and so long as she’s here, she shall behave herself, or I’ll cut her thievish ways out of her.”
“But, indeed,” said Tim, pitifully, “it was me, upon my word. It was me, Mary. Just look—here’s some of the crumbs left now;” and he pointed to a few splintery scales of paste lying upon the board.
Mrs Ruggles gave a nod that might have meant anything.
“I am sure you should not beat her so,” whimpered Tim. “Beating does no good, and may hurt—”
“Didn’t I say I wouldn’t have her talked about?” exclaimed Mrs Ruggles, in threatening tones. “And how do you know? If she didn’t want whipping this time, it will do for next. Children are always doing something, and a good beating sometimes loosens their skins and makes ’em grow. You never had children to teach.”
“’Tain’t my dooty to have children,” muttered Tim.
“What’s that?” shouted Mrs Ruggles. “Now don’t aggravate, you know I can’t abear nagging.”
“I only said, my dear, that it wasn’t my dooty to have children, but yours.”