to learn, myself, before I could teach others, and that I could not confide in my good intentions alone.  For these reasons I thought it best to be as useful as I could, and to render what kind services I could to those immediately about me, and to try to let that circle of duty gradually and naturally expand itself.  All this I said with anything but confidence, because Mrs. Pardiggle was much older than I, and had great experience, and was so very military in her manners.

“You are wrong, Miss Summerson,” said she, “but perhaps you are not equal to hard work or the excitement of it, and that makes a vast difference.  If you would like to see how I go through my work, I am now about—­with my young family—­to visit a brickmaker in the neighbourhood (a very bad character) and shall be glad to take you with me.  Miss Clare also, if she will do me the favour.”

Ada and I interchanged looks, and as we were going out in any case, accepted the offer.  When we hastily returned from putting on our bonnets, we found the young family languishing in a corner and Mrs. Pardiggle sweeping about the room, knocking down nearly all the light objects it contained.  Mrs. Pardiggle took possession of Ada, and I followed with the family.

Ada told me afterwards that Mrs. Pardiggle talked in the same loud tone (that, indeed, I overheard) all the way to the brickmaker’s about an exciting contest which she had for two or three years waged against another lady relative to the bringing in of their rival candidates for a pension somewhere.  There had been a quantity of printing, and promising, and proxying, and polling, and it appeared to have imparted great liveliness to all concerned, except the pensioners—­who were not elected yet.

I am very fond of being confided in by children and am happy in being usually favoured in that respect, but on this occasion it gave me great uneasiness.  As soon as we were out of doors, Egbert, with the manner of a little footpad, demanded a shilling of me on the ground that his pocket-money was “boned” from him.  On my pointing out the great impropriety of the word, especially in connexion with his parent (for he added sulkily “By her!"), he pinched me and said, “Oh, then!  Now!  Who are you!  You wouldn’t like it, I think?  What does she make a sham for, and pretend to give me money, and take it away again?  Why do you call it my allowance, and never let me spend it?” These exasperating questions so inflamed his mind and the minds of Oswald and Francis that they all pinched me at once, and in a dreadfully expert way—­ screwing up such little pieces of my arms that I could hardly forbear crying out.  Felix, at the same time, stamped upon my toes.  And the Bond of Joy, who on account of always having the whole of his little income anticipated stood in fact pledged to abstain from cakes as well as tobacco, so swelled with grief and rage when we passed a pastry-cook’s shop that he terrified me by becoming purple.  I never underwent so much, both in body and mind, in the course of a walk with young people as from these unnaturally constrained children when they paid me the compliment of being natural.