And I
rung and rung, and "Where's Polly?" (for I honour the slut with too
much of my notice), "Where's Polly?" was all my cry, to every one
who came up to ask what I rung for. And, at last, in burst the pert
baggage, with an air of assurance, as if she thought all must be well
the moment she appeared, with "Do you want me, papa?"
"Do I want you, Confidence? Yes, I do. Where have you been these two
hours, that you never came near me, when you knew 'twas my time
to have my foot rubbed, which gives me mortal pain?" For you must
understand, Mr. B., that nobody's hand's so soft as Polly's.
She gave me a saucy answer, as I was disposed to think it, because I
had just then a twinge, that I could scarce bear; for pain is a plaguy
thing to a man of my lively spirits.
She gave me, I say, a careless answer, and turning upon her heel; and
not coming to me at my first word, I flung a book which I had in my
hand, at her head. And, this fine lady of your's, this paragon of
meekness and humility, in so many words, bids me, or, which is worse,
tells my own daughter to bid me, never to take a book into my hands
again, if I won't make a better use of it:--and yet, what better
use can an offended father make of the best books, than to correct a
rebellious child with them, and oblige a saucy daughter to jump into
her duty all at once?
Mrs.
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