She was a formidable style of lady with spectacles, a prominent nose, and a loud voice, who had the effect of wanting a great deal of room.  And she really did, for she knocked down little chairs with her skirts that were quite a great way off.  As only Ada and I were at home, we received her timidly, for she seemed to come in like cold weather and to make the little Pardiggles blue as they followed.

“These, young ladies,” said Mrs. Pardiggle with great volubility after the first salutations, “are my five boys.  You may have seen their names in a printed subscription list (perhaps more than one) in the possession of our esteemed friend Mr. Jarndyce.  Egbert, my eldest (twelve), is the boy who sent out his pocket-money, to the amount of five and threepence, to the Tockahoopo Indians.  Oswald, my second (ten and a half), is the child who contributed two and nine-pence to the Great National Smithers Testimonial.  Francis, my third (nine), one and sixpence halfpenny; Felix, my fourth (seven), eightpence to the Superannuated Widows; Alfred, my youngest (five), has voluntarily enrolled himself in the Infant Bonds of Joy, and is pledged never, through life, to use tobacco in any form.”

We had never seen such dissatisfied children.  It was not merely that they were weazened and shrivelled—­though they were certainly that too—­but they looked absolutely ferocious with discontent.  At the mention of the Tockahoopo Indians, I could really have supposed Egbert to be one of the most baleful members of that tribe, he gave me such a savage frown.  The face of each child, as the amount of his contribution was mentioned, darkened in a peculiarly vindictive manner, but his was by far the worst.  I must except, however, the little recruit into the Infant Bonds of Joy, who was stolidly and evenly miserable.

“You have been visiting, I understand,” said Mrs. Pardiggle, “at Mrs. Jellyby’s?”

We said yes, we had passed one night there.

“Mrs. Jellyby,” pursued the lady, always speaking in the same demonstrative, loud, hard tone, so that her voice impressed my fancy as if it had a sort of spectacles on too—­and I may take the opportunity of remarking that her spectacles were made the less engaging by her eyes being what Ada called “choking eyes,” meaning very prominent—­“Mrs. Jellyby is a benefactor to society and deserves a helping hand.  My boys have contributed to the African project—­Egbert, one and six, being the entire allowance of nine weeks; Oswald, one and a penny halfpenny, being the same; the rest, according to their little means.  Nevertheless, I do not go with Mrs. Jellyby in all things.  I do not go with Mrs. Jellyby in her treatment of her young family.  It has been noticed.  It has been observed that her young family are excluded from participation in the objects to which she is devoted.  She may be right, she may be wrong; but, right or wrong, this is not my course with my young family.  I take them everywhere.”