And pray, what do think of my Lady? &longs;aid Mrs.
Lappett to Rebecca, the evening of her arrival
in Bedford-Square.

Lappett was an experienced Abigail. She had lived
with Lady O&longs;&longs;iter from the time of her marriage, and
not, without envy, beheld Rebecca introduced
into the family, as &longs;he feared &longs;he might have a gown or
two the le&longs;s in a year, or, perhaps, Rebecca might

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

&longs;upplant her intirely. This jealou&longs;y made her re&longs;olve
to cultivate an intimacy with the un&longs;u&longs;pecting girl, and
be the mo&longs;t forward in &longs;howing her civilities, that &longs;he
might win her confidence, draw from her her real opinion
concerning her Lady, and then betray her. Lappett,
when &longs;he had any favourite point to gain, could
a&longs;&longs;ume a mo&longs;t in&longs;inuating manner. The words that fell
from her tongue were &longs;mooth, and plea&longs;ant as the river's
&longs;urface unruffled by a breeze: but like that, when
the whirlwind of pa&longs;&longs;ion aro&longs;e, di&longs;played the mo&longs;t
frightful contra&longs;t.

“And what do you think of my Lady?” &longs;aid &longs;he,
as &longs;he was taking her tea in Rebecca's apartment.

“I hardly know what to think yet,” replied Rebecca.
“I never judge very ha&longs;tily. She appears extremely
good natured.”

“Ah! my dear, you will know her better by and
bye; there is a deal of difference between old &longs;ervants
and new ones.”

“I &longs;hould be much obliged to you, Mrs. Lappett
to give me &longs;ome little idea of the be&longs;t method to obtain
her approbation.”

“Indeed, that is more than is in my power, child,
for what plea&longs;es to-day may di&longs;plea&longs;e to-morrow: I
never give my&longs;elf much trouble about it. How do you
like the children?”

“They are very fine boys; but I am mo&longs;t plea&longs;ed
with Mi&longs;s O&longs;&longs;iter; &longs;he &longs;eems extremely mild and engaging.”

“Well, you are the fir&longs;t per&longs;on I ever heard &longs;ay
they liked her be&longs;t. My lady can't bear her; &longs;he &longs;ays
&longs;he is &longs;o &longs;tupid—.”

“I think it is very wrong,” &longs;aid Rebecca, in the
&longs;implicity of her heart, “for mothers to make any
di&longs;tinction in their regard for their children; and I
&longs;hall con&longs;ider my&longs;elf doubly obliged to be kind and affectionate
to Mi&longs;s, if her mamma is unkind to her.”

“It &longs;hows the goodne&longs;s of your heart, my dear
ma'am,” &longs;aid Lappett, beginning to &longs;ee a little into
the di&longs;po&longs;ition of our heroine. “But, pray, have you
&longs;een my Lord yet?”

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

“Yes, once at Twickenham.”

“Well, don't you think him a va&longs;t hand&longs;ome man?”

“He is well enough,” &longs;aid Rebecca, carele&longs;sly;
“but Sir George Worthy is, in my opinion, a great
deal hand&longs;omer.”

“Lord O&longs;&longs;iter is a man of gallantry, though, I a&longs;&longs;ure
you, I mu&longs;t tell you, but it is between our&longs;elves, he
once made propo&longs;als to me.”

“Indeed! Well, I think, you were right to refu&longs;e
him; di&longs;proportionate marriages are &longs;eldom happy.”

“Oh! Lord, my dear, it was not for marriage, I
a&longs;&longs;ure you; it was &longs;ince I lived with my Lady.”

“Good heaven!” cried Rebecca, with a look of
&longs;urpri&longs;e, “what &longs;ince he has been married?”

“Yes; but I would not have you mention it; he
offered me three hundred a year.”

“And how could you remain in the family after
&longs;uch an affront, Mrs. Lappett?”

“Why, I thought it was a pity to lo&longs;e my place,
&longs;o I kept my gentleman at a proper di&longs;tance, and he
dropped the pur&longs;uit: but come, ma'am, let us hurry
the nur&longs;ery maid to put Mi&longs;s O&longs;&longs;iter and the young
gentlemen to bed, and then we will go down and take
a game at cards in the hou&longs;ekeeper's room.”

“You will excu&longs;e me, Mrs. Lappett: I never played
a game at cards in my life; be&longs;ides, my Lady has
given me &longs;ome mu&longs;lin to &longs;pot, and I mu&longs;t &longs;et about it.”

“Lord! child, you'll have enough to do if you humour
her by working of an evening.”

“It is my duty to do all that is in my power, and
I had rather work than &longs;it &longs;till.”

“Well, then, bring down your work, you will be
moped to death &longs;itting here by your&longs;elf.”

“Oh! dear, no, I &longs;hall not: I am never lonely.
I work very fa&longs;t, and when I have done a good bit I
can take up a book and read. I would rather not go
down, if you will excu&longs;e me.”

“Ju&longs;t as you plea&longs;e, ma'am,” &longs;aid Lappett; “we
&longs;hall be glad of your company, but if you prefer being
alone —.”

She court&longs;eyed, ironically to&longs;&longs;ed her head, and left

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Rebecca to the enjoyment of her own reflexions, while
&longs;he entertained her fellow &longs;ervants with the pride, conceit,
and ignorance of the new comer. “I tried to get
her down among&longs;t us, that we might have a little fun
with her,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “for you would laugh to hear
how fooli&longs;hly &longs;he talks. She will not &longs;tay here long,
take my word for it.”

At lea&longs;t Mrs. Lappett had re&longs;olved, in her own mind,
to u&longs;e every exertion to di&longs;place Rebecca from a family
where, &longs;he was fearful, her beauty, innocence and worth,
would attract the notice of one, who&longs;e devoirs &longs;he considered
as entirely due to her&longs;elf.

For, to own the truth, Mrs. Lappett had not been
quite &longs;o deaf to the propo&longs;als of her Lord as &longs;he had represented
to Rebecca, though &longs;he rather made a mistake
in &longs;aying his Lord&longs;hip had offered a &longs;ettlement,
that being a mea&longs;ure earne&longs;tly de&longs;ired by her&longs;elf, but
which &longs;he could find no means to bring Lord O&longs;&longs;iter
into: indeed, he had found her too ea&longs;y a conque&longs;ty to
indulge a thought of putting him&longs;elf to much expence
or trouble on her account.

The next morning, when Lady O&longs;&longs;iter had breakfasted,
&longs;he went immediately to the nur&longs;ery, a thing
&longs;he had not been known to do for many months before;
but Rebecca was a novelty, and therefore demanded
from her Lady &longs;ome little attention; as Rebecca had
been told that her Lady &longs;eldom, if ever, came into the
children's apartment, the vi&longs;it was intirely unexpected,
and Lady O&longs;&longs;iter, found her bu&longs;ily employed in arranging
&longs;ome pencils and crayons in a &longs;mall, but elegant,
drawing box, which had been given her by her late
benefactre&longs;s.

She aro&longs;e, and apologized for the confu&longs;ion her
drawings, &c. which had fallen on the floor, had made
in the apartment; “had I known your Lady&longs;hip intended
this honour,”—

“Oh! never mind, child,” cried the Lady, with
a look of infinite good humour, which no woman knew
better how to a&longs;&longs;ume than Lady O&longs;&longs;iter; “I did not
come to di&longs;turb you, but I thought I &longs;hould like you
to hear the children read.”

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

“Have they ever been taught their letters, Madam?”

“Why, upon my word, I cannot tell: I believe
Charles can tell them when he &longs;ees them: I have tried
him &longs;ometimes by taking up the news-paper when he
was in the room; but I do not believe Lucy or James
know any thing about it; but call them in, and let us
&longs;ee what they can do.”

Rebecca, who had about two hours before &longs;een them
all neatly dre&longs;&longs;ed, and given them their breakfa&longs;t, opened
the adjoining room to call them, when how great
was her &longs;urpri&longs;e when &longs;he &longs;aw the elde&longs;t boy, who was
eight years old, with two or three colour-&longs;hells before
him, &longs;everal bru&longs;hes, and a ba&longs;on of water, with which
he had not been &longs;atisfied to daub &longs;everal &longs;heets of paper,
and his own clothes, but al&longs;o his brother and &longs;i&longs;ter's
hands, faces, and frocks! Infinitely chagrined that
they &longs;hould be &longs;een by their mother in &longs;uch a condition,
&longs;he turned mildly towards the nur&longs;ery maid, and a&longs;ked
“how &longs;he could be &longs;o neglectful as not to mind what
the children were doing?”

“Mind them your&longs;elf, ma'am,” was the an&longs;wer:
“I thought you came here to help me, not to command
me.”

“I &longs;hall for the future mind them,” &longs;aid Rebecca,
attempting to take the bru&longs;hes from Ma&longs;ter O&longs;&longs;iter.

“You &longs;hall not have them,” &longs;creamed he: “I will
paint when I plea&longs;e; mamma &longs;ays I &longs;hall.”

Rebecca per&longs;i&longs;ted in removing from his reach the
&longs;hells and water, when &longs;etting up a &longs;cream like a bed-lamite,
he threw one, which he had retained in his
hand, full in her face!

“What is the matter?” cried Lady O&longs;&longs;iter, opening
the door. “Come hither, Charles; what do they
do to you, my love?”

“She will not let me play. She has taken away my
paints, and will not let me do any thing.”

“But &longs;he &longs;hall let you do as you plea&longs;e,” &longs;aid the
mother, ki&longs;&longs;ing him, “&longs;o do not cry.”

At that moment another &longs;cream, from the inner apartment,
vibrated in her Lady&longs;hip's ears, and Ma&longs;ter
James and Mi&longs;s O&longs;&longs;iter came bellowing into the room,
that “the new maid would wa&longs;h their faces.”

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

“Heaven &longs;ave me,” &longs;aid the Lady, “from often
vi&longs;iting the nur&longs;ery! You are enough to drive one mad.
I had hoped, indeed, that you, Rebecca, would have
managed them better than to have had all this uproar;
but I &longs;ee &longs;ervants are all alike; they have no more notion
of the management of children than natural fools:
why, I will an&longs;wer for it, if I had time, I could make
the&longs;e children do ju&longs;t as I plea&longs;e, without any of this
roaring. Do not you think, Charles, you would always
mind me?”

“Oh! yes, mamma; you never contradict me,
but give me every thing I want.”

“Well, go, my dear, go to Rebecca and have your
face wa&longs;hed, and you &longs;hall go out in the coach, and buy
&longs;ome more paints. Do, child, put James and Mi&longs;s
O&longs;&longs;iter on clean frocks, and get your&longs;elf ready to go
out with them. I will hear them read another time;
poor dears, they have been vexed enough this morning:”
then taking her favourite's hand, to lead him
out of the room, &longs;he &longs;topped, and picked up two or
three of Rebecca's drawings.—“Here, my love,” &longs;aid
&longs;he, “a&longs;k your maid to give you the&longs;e pretty pictures.”

Rebecca was too meek to contradict, and he marched
off with her two be&longs;t performances in his hand.

In about ten minutes a footman tapped at the door,
to inform Rebecca that the chariot waited, and that &longs;he
mu&longs;t go to her Lady's dre&longs;&longs;ing-room for Ma&longs;ter O&longs;&longs;iter.

Rebecca, who had been accu&longs;tomed to peace and
regularity, was di&longs;tracted by the hurry and confu&longs;ion
&longs;he had been thrown into; but flattering her&longs;elf it
would be better next day, &longs;he made all the ha&longs;te &longs;he
could, and repaired to the dre&longs;&longs;ing-room, where, on a
&longs;ofa, be&longs;ide his mamma, &longs;at the delectable Ma&longs;ter Ossiter,
with a pair of gold-bowed &longs;ci&longs;&longs;ars, cutting the
hou&longs;es, trees, and figures, from her drawings, which
her Lady&longs;hip was amu&longs;ing her&longs;elf by placing in a kind
of fanta&longs;tic medley on the table before her.

“See, Rebecca,” cried &longs;he, we have di&longs;patched
the&longs;e pretty pictures, I dare &longs;ay, a deal quicker than
you made them.”

Rebecca &longs;miled faintly; but &longs;he felt a cold chill &longs;trike

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

to her heart. “Alas! Lady Mary would not have
done &longs;o, &longs;ighed &longs;he, &longs;oftly, as &longs;he followed the children
down &longs;tairs, and a tear &longs;tarted in her eye, which &longs;he
was unable to &longs;uppre&longs;s.

“Drive to the toy-&longs;hop,” &longs;aid Ma&longs;ter O&longs;&longs;iter, as
the man &longs;hut the chariot-door, “and &longs;ee what mamma
has given me,” continued he, pulling half a guinea
from his pocket, and &longs;howing it to his brother and sister:
“and I am to lay it out ju&longs;t as I plea&longs;e.”

As the chariot &longs;topped at the &longs;hop door, a poor man,
pale and emaciated, with but one leg, took off his hat,
bowed, but did not &longs;peak.

“Look at that poor man, my dear,” &longs;aid Rebecca;
“he would be very thankful for a &longs;mall part of your
money; &longs;uppo&longs;e you was to give him a &longs;hilling?”

“What &longs;hould I give him a &longs;hilling for?” &longs;aid the
child.

“Becau&longs;e he is in great di&longs;tre&longs;s; &longs;ee how pale he
looks, and what a thin ragged coat he has on this cold
day!”

“Well, what is that to me?”

“Suppo&longs;e, Ma&longs;ter O&longs;&longs;iter, you were cold and hungry?”

“That you know is impo&longs;&longs;ible.”

“Impo&longs;&longs;ible! Sir.”

“Yes, to be &longs;ure; a'nt I a Lord's &longs;on, and &longs;hall
not I be a Lord my&longs;elf, if I live long enough? and,
you know, Lords are never poor.”

“Then is it the more their duty to relieve tho&longs;e
that are.”

“Duty!” &longs;aid he, &longs;taring in her face; “mamma
never gives any thing to poor folks; &longs;he &longs;ays they
&longs;hould be all &longs;ent to pri&longs;on, and made work.”

This dialogue had pa&longs;&longs;ed in the &longs;hop, and the miserable
&longs;ubject of it &longs;till was at the door. Mi&longs;s O&longs;&longs;iter
put her little hand in&longs;tinctively into her pocket.

“If I had any money; but mamma don't very often
give me any.” Then approaching Rebecca, in a kind
of half whi&longs;per, “If you, ma'am, will give the poor
man half a crown, I will a&longs;k my uncle for one to pay
you with the fir&longs;t time I &longs;ee him.”

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Rebecca gazed on the child as &longs;he was &longs;peaking, and
&longs;he fancied &longs;he beheld her grandmother's benevolence
play about her infant countenance.—She caught her
in her arms, gave the de&longs;ired half crown, and joy for
a moment animated her bo&longs;om, when &longs;he beheld both
the beggar and his little benefactre&longs;s look equally happy.