Joseph turned round and made a face at him.
“Give me the rattan,” said Edward, half laughing, and offering to take it out of his hand. “I’ll use it to your full satisfaction.”
The boy thought it most prudent to stride off and return to the table, and ensconce himself among his brothers and sisters; some of whom were staring with stupid surprise; others were whispering and giggling in the hope of seeing Joseph get a real flogging.
Mrs. Watkinson having bestowed a bitter look on Edward, hastened to turn the attention of his mother to something else. “Mrs. Morland,” said she, “allow me to introduce you to my youngest hope.” She pointed to a sleepy boy about five years old, who with head thrown back and mouth wide open, was slumbering in his chair.
Mrs. Watkinson’s children were of that uncomfortable species who never go to bed; at least never without all manner of resistance. All her boasted authority was inadequate to compel them; they never would confess themselves sleepy; always wanted to “sit up,” and there was a nightly scene of scolding, coaxing, threatening and manoeuvring to get them off.
“I declare,” said Mrs. Watkinson, “dear Benny is almost asleep. Shake him up, Christopher. I want him to speak a speech. His schoolmistress takes great pains in teaching her little pupils to speak, and stands up herself and shows them how.”
The child having been shaken up hard (two or three others helping Christopher), rubbed his eyes and began to whine. His mother went to him, took him on her lap, hushed him up, and began to coax him. This done, she stood him on his feet before Mrs. Morland, and desired him to speak a speech for the company. The child put his thumb into his mouth, and remained silent.
“Ma,” said Jane Watkinson, “you had better tell him what speech to speak.”
“Speak Cato or Plato,” said his mother. “Which do you call it? Come now, Benny—how does it begin? ‘You are quite right and reasonable, Plato.’ That’s it.”
“Speak Lucius,” said his sister Jane. “Come now, Benny—say ‘your thoughts are turned on peace.’”