When she saw that I was not pacified yet, she began to be
angry with me. ‘And what would you have?’ says she; ‘don’t
I tell you that you shall not go to service till your are bigger?’
‘Ay,’ said I, ‘but then I must go at last.’ ‘Why, what?’ said she;
‘is the girl mad? What would you be — a gentlewoman?’
‘Yes,’ says I, and cried heartily till I roard out again.
This set the old gentlewoman a-laughing at me, as you may be
sure it would. ‘Well, madam, forsooth,’ says she, gibing at me,
‘you would be a gentlewoman; and pray how will you come to
be a gentlewoman? What! will you do it by your fingers’ end?’
‘Yes,’ says I again, very innocently.
‘Why, what can you earn?’ says she; ‘what can you get at your
work?’
‘Threepence,’ said I, ‘when I spin, and fourpence when I work
plain work.’
‘Alas! poor gentlewoman,’ said she again, laughing, ‘what will
that do for thee?’
‘It will keep me,’ says I, ‘if you will let me live with you.’ And
this I said in such a poor petitioning tone, that it made the poor
woman’s heart yearn to me, as she told me afterwards.
‘But,’ says she, ‘that will not keep you and buy you clothes
too; and who must buy the little gentlewoman clothes?’ says
she, and smiled all the while at me.
‘I will work harder, then,’ says I, ‘and you shall have it all.’
‘Poor child! it won’t keep you,’ says she; ‘it will hardly keep
you in victuals.’
‘Then I will have no victuals,’ says I, again very innocently;
‘let me but live with you.’
‘Why, can you live without victuals?’ says she.
‘Yes,’ again says I, very much like a child, you may be sure,
and still I cried heartily.
I had no policy in all this; you may easily see it was all nature;
but it was joined with so much innocence and so much passion
that, in short, it set the good motherly creature a-weeping too,
and she cried at last as fast as I did, and then took me and led
me out of the teaching-room. ‘Come,’ says she, ‘you shan’t
go to service; you shall live with me’; and this pacified me
for the present.
Some time after this, she going to wait on the Mayor, and
talking of such things as belonged to her business, at last my
story came up, and my good nurse told Mr. Mayor the whole
tale. He was so pleased with it, that he would call his lady
and his two daughters to hear it, and it made mirth enough
among them, you may be sure.
However, not a week had passed over, but on a sudden comes
Mrs. Mayoress and her two daughters to the house to see my
old nurse, and to see her school and the children. When they
had looked about them a little, ‘Well, Mrs.—-,’ says the
Mayoress to my nurse, ‘and pray which is the little lass that
intends to be a gentlewoman?’ I heard her, and I was terribly
frighted at first, though I did not know why neither; but Mrs.
Mayoress comes up to me. ‘Well, miss,’ says she, ‘and what
are you at work upon?’ The word miss was a language that
had hardly been heard of in our school, and I wondered what
sad name it was she called me. However, I stood up, made a
curtsy, and she took my work out of my hand, looked on it,
and said it was very well; then she took up one of the hands.
‘Nay,’ says she, ‘the child may come to be a gentlewoman for
aught anybody knows; she has a gentlewoman’s hand,’ says she.
This pleased me mightily, you may be sure; but Mrs. Mayoress
did not stop there, but giving me my work again, she put her
hand in her pocket, gave me a shilling, and bid me mind my
work, and learn to work well, and I might be a gentlewoman
for aught she knew.
Now all this while my good old nurse, Mrs. Mayoress, and all
the rest of them did not understand me at all, for they meant