I did not see the effect of my bold words, for my aunt hurried me away. She took me, not to my own bed-closet, but to a room in the front of the house, next her own, which we children always called the Apostles' room, because it had figures of the apostles wrought on the hangings. Here she left me, turning the key upon me, but presently came back with Sambo carrying a truckle bed, and whatever I needed for the night. My wild anger had subsided into sullen grief by that time, and I never spoke.
I was left alone till supper-time, when Betty came up, bringing me a basin of milk and a slice of brown bread.
"Here is your supper, and a great deal better than you deserve!" said she, in her provoking taunting tone—old fool that I am, the very remembrance makes my blood boil. "Here is a fine end to your airs, forsooth; a country wench to be set up for a lady!"
The words were not out of her mouth before she received a stinging box on each ear from the hands of my aunt, who had followed her in time to hear her words.
"Take that—and that—for thy impudence!" said my aunt, repeating the application. "And let me hear you beg my niece's pardon directly or you leave the house this hour. Country wench, indeed!" And again my aunt's hand emphasized her remarks on Betty's cheek. *
"I beg your pardon, mistress!" sobbed Betty.
"That is well. But why are you here at all? I bade Sambo bring the tray, and where are the manchets I laid upon it."
"Guess dat Betty eat 'em herself!" said Sambo, who stood thoroughly enjoying Betty's disgrace, for they were old enemies. "I just went out to bring Missy Lovely—" that was his version of my name—"a flower from her own bed, and, see here, missy, what I find."
As he spoke, he held up a pair of scissors which we both know to be Betty's.
* Much greater ladies than Mrs. Holland beat their maids till long after this time. See Pepy's diary.