“I’ll not have it, Judy!” I warned her. “You’ll vex me sore an you does it again.”
The maid would not look up.
“Volume II., page 25,” my uncle chided. “Underlined by Sir Harry. ‘An’ this address an’ manner should be exceedin’ly respeckful.’”
“Judy!” I implored.
She ignored me.
“An you calls me that again, maid,” I threatened, in a rage, “you’ll be sorry for it. I’ll––”
“Holy Scripture!” roared my uncle, reaching for his staff. “‘Spare the rod and spoil the child.’”
I was not to be stopped by this. ’Twas an occasion too promising in disaster. She had sirred me like a house-maid. Sir? ’Twas past believing. That Judith should be so overcome by fine feathers and a roosterly strut! ’Twas shocking to discover the effect of my uncle’s teaching. It seemed to me that the maid must at once be dissuaded from this attitude of inferiority or my solid hope would change into a dream. Inferiority? She must have no such fancy! Fixed within her mind ’twould inevitably involve us in some catastrophe of feeling. The torrent of my wrath and supplication went tumbling on: there was no staying it. My uncle’s hand fell short of his staff; he sat stiff and agape with astonished admiration: perceiving which, my tutor laughed until my hot words were fair extinguished in the noise he made. By this my uncle was set laughing: whence the infection spread to me. And then Judith peeped at me through the 197 cluster of buttercups with the ghost of a roguish twinkle.
“I’ll call you Dannie,” says she, slyly––“t’ save you the lickin’!”