I think that frightens her. She carries me back quietly, by the servants'' stairs, and she and Barbara bathe me, then rub my arms with spirits.
''If she loses the use of her hands, my God, he''ll have our characters for ever!''
It is something, to see her made afraid. I complain of pains in my fingers, and weakness, for a day or two after that, and watch her flutter; then I forget myself, and pinch her—and by that, she knows my grip is a strong one, and soon punishes me again.
This makes a period of, perhaps a month; though to my childish mind it seems longer. My uncle waits, all that time, as he might wait for the breaking of a horse. Now and then he has Mrs Stiles conduct me to his library, and questions her as to my progress.
''How do we do, Mrs Stiles?''
''Still badly, sir.''
''Still fierce?''
''Fierce, and snappish.''
''You''ve tried your hand?''
She nods. He sends us away. Then come more shows of temper, more rages and tears. At night, Barbara shakes her head.
''What a dot of a girl, to be so naughty! Mrs Stiles says she never saw such a little Tartar as you. Why can''t you be good?''