“You see, ma’am, what a good memory he has,” said Mrs. Watkinson aside to Mrs. Morland.  “But my best Joseph, you make your mother tremble.  What fault have you imagined?  What was your bad thought?”

“Ay,” said another boy, “what’s your thought like?”

“My thought,” said Joseph, “was ’Confound all astronomy, and I could see the man hanged that made this game.’”

“Oh! my child,” exclaimed the mother, stopping her ears, “I am indeed shocked.  I am glad you repented so immediately.”

“Yes,” returned Joseph, “but I am afraid my repentance won’t last.  If I am not whipped, I may have these bad thoughts whenever I play at astronomy, and worse still at the geography game.  Whip me, ma, and punish me as I deserve.  There’s the rattan in the corner:  I’ll bring it to you myself.”

“Excellent boy!” said his mother.  “You know I always pardon my children when they are so candid as to confess their faults.”

“So you do,” said Joseph, “but a whipping will cure me better.”

“I cannot resolve to punish so conscientious a child,” said Mrs. Watkinson.

“Shall I take the trouble off your hands?” inquired Edward, losing all patience in his disgust at the sanctimonious hypocrisy of this young Blifil.  “It is such a rarity for a boy to request a whipping, that so remarkable a desire ought by all means to be gratified.”

Joseph turned round and made a face at him.

“Give me the rattan,” said Edward, half laughing, and offering to take it out of his hand.  “I’ll use it to your full satisfaction.”

The boy thought it most prudent to stride off and return to the table, and ensconce himself among his brothers and sisters; some of whom were staring with stupid surprise; others were whispering and giggling in the hope of seeing Joseph get a real flogging.

Mrs. Watkinson having bestowed a bitter look on Edward, hastened to turn the attention of his mother to something else.  “Mrs. Morland,” said she, “allow me to introduce you to my youngest hope.”  She pointed to a sleepy boy about five years old, who with head thrown back and mouth wide open, was slumbering in his chair.

Mrs. Watkinson’s children were of that uncomfortable species who never go to bed; at least never without all manner of resistance.  All her boasted authority was inadequate to compel them; they never would confess themselves sleepy; always wanted to “sit up,” and there was a nightly scene of scolding, coaxing, threatening and manoeuvring to get them off.

“I declare,” said Mrs. Watkinson, “dear Benny is almost asleep.  Shake him up, Christopher.  I want him to speak a speech.  His school-mistress takes great pains in teaching her little pupils to speak, and stands up herself and shows them how.”

The child having been shaken up hard (two or three others helping Christopher), rubbed his eyes and began to whine.  His mother went to him, took him on her lap, hushed him up, and began to coax him.  This done, she stood him on his feet before Mrs. Morland, and desired him to speak a speech for the company.  The child put his thumb into his mouth, and remained silent.