Penelope’s black eyes flashed fire, and her face flushed.
“If I could, I would just,” she said.
“If you could you would what?” said Nancy.
“I know—I know! And I’ll do it, too.”
A provoking smile visited the lips of the child. She danced backwards and forwards in an ecstasy of glee.
“I can punish you all fine,” said Penelope; “and I’ll do it, too.”
She vanished out of sight. Now, it must be admitted that Penelope was not a nice child. She had her good points, for few children are without them; but in addition to being thoroughly untrained, to never having exercised self-control, she had by nature certain peculiarities which the other children had not. It had been from her earliest days her earnest desire to curry favor with those in authority, and yet to act quite as naughtily as any one else when she thought no one was looking. Even when quite a tiny child Penelope was wont to sit as still as a mouse in nurse’s presence. If nurse said, “Miss Penelope, you are not to move or you will wake baby,” then nurse knew that Penelope would not stir. But if this same child happened to be left with baby, so strong would be her jealousy that she would give the infant a sharp pinch and set it howling, and then run from the room.
These peculiarities continued with her growth. Nurse was fond of her because she was quiet and useful in the nursery, fairly tidy in her habits, and fairly helpful. But even nurse was wont to say, “You never can get at Miss Penelope. You can never see through what is brewing in her mind.”
Now, when Aunt Sophia appeared on the scene, Penelope instantly determined to carry out the darling wish of her heart. This was no less than to be removed from the dullness of the nursery to the fascinating life that she supposed the elder children led. To accomplish this she thought it would be only necessary to make a great fuss about Aunt Sophia, to attend to her fads, and to give her numerous little attentions. In short, to show that she, Penelope, cared very much for her new aunt. But Aunt Sophia did not care for Penelope’s fusses, and disliked her small attentions. Nevertheless, the small girl persevered, and in the end she did win a triumph, for she was promoted to the schoolroom, with its superior privileges and—alas! alas!—also its undoubted drawbacks. She, who hated lessons, must now try to read; she must also try to write, and must make valiant efforts to spell. Above and beyond all these things, she had to do one yet harder—she had to sit mute as a mouse for a couple of hours daily, with her hands neatly folded in her lap; and by-and-by she had to struggle with her clumsy little fingers to make hideous noises on the cracked old piano. These things were not agreeable to the wild child, and so uncomfortable and restrained had she felt during the first morning’s lessons that she almost resolved to humble her pride and return to the nursery. But the thought of her sisters’ withering, sarcastic remarks, and of nurse’s bitterly cold reception, and nurse’s words, “I told you so,” being repeated for ever in her ears, was too much for Penelope, and she determined to give a further trial to the schoolroom life. Now it occurred to her that a moment of triumph was before her. In the old days she had secretly adored Nancy King, for Nancy had given her more than one lollypop; but when Nancy asked what the nursery child was doing with the schoolroom folk, and showed that she did not appreciate Penelope’s society, the little girl’s heart became full of anger.
“I’ll tell about her. I’ll get her into trouble. I’ll get them all into trouble,” she thought.