Poor Nell had never viewed her position in this light, and not knowing what to say, remained silent, blushing more deeply than before.
“Don’t you know,” said Miss Monflathers, “that it’s very naughty and unfeminine, and a perversion of the properties wisely and benignantly transmitted to us, with expansive powers to be roused from their dormant state through the medium of cultivation?”
“Don’t you feel how naughty it is of you,” resumed Miss Monflathers, “to be a waxwork child, when you might have the proud consciousness of assisting, to the extent of your infant powers, the manufactures of your country; of improving your mind by the constant contemplation of the steam engine; and of earning a comfortable and independent subsistence of from two and ninepence to three shillings per week? Don’t you know that the harder you are at work, the happier you are?”
“‘How doth the little——’” murmured one of the teachers in quotation from Dr. Watts.
“Eh?” said Miss Monflathers, turning smartly round. “Who said that?”
“The little busy bee,” said Miss Monflathers, drawing herself up, “is applicable only to genteel children.
‘In books, or work, or healthful play’
is quite right as far as they are concerned; and the work means painting on velvet, fancy needlework, or embroidery. In such cases as these,” pointing to Nell with her parasol, “and in the case of all poor people’s children, we should read it thus:
‘In work, work, work. In work alway
Let my first years be passed,
That I may give for ev’ry day
Some good account at last.’”
Just then somebody happened to discover that Nell was crying, and all eyes were again turned toward her.