“My dear-r-r-r-Ramelia!  You must not.”

At which Amelia would not so much as look round, till perhaps the bowl slipped from her fingers, and was smashed into unmendable fragments.  Then her mamma would exclaim, “Oh, dear-r-r-r, oh, dear-r-Ramelia” and the lady of the house would try to look as if it did not matter, and when Amelia and her mother departed, would pick up the bits, and pour out her complaints to her lady friends, most of whom had suffered many such damages at the hands of this “very observing child.”

When the good couple received their friends at home, there was no escaping from Amelia.  If it was a dinner-party, she came in with the dessert, or perhaps sooner.  She would take up her position near some one, generally the person most deeply engaged in conversation, and either lean heavily against him or her, or climb on to his or her knee, without being invited.  She would break in upon the most interesting discussion with her own little childish affairs, in the following style—­“I’ve been out to-day.  I walked to the town.  I jumped across three brooks.  Can you jump?  Papa gave me sixpence to-day.  I am saving up my money to be rich.  You may cut me an orange; no, I’ll take it to Mr. Brown, he peels it with a spoon and turns the skin back.  Mr. Brown!  Mr. Brown!  Don’t talk to Mamma, but peel me an orange, please.  Mr. Brown!  I’m playing with your finger-glass.”

And when the finger-glass full of cold water had been upset on to Mr. Brown’s shirt-front, Amelia’s mamma would cry—­“Oh dear, oh dear-r-Ramelia!” and carry her off with the ladies to the drawing-room.

Here she would scramble on to the ladies’ knees, or trample out the gathers of their dresses, and fidget with their ornaments, startling some luckless lady by the announcement, “I’ve got your bracelet undone at last!” who would find one of the divisions broken open by force, Amelia not understanding the working of a clasp.

Or perhaps two young lady friends would get into a quiet corner for a chat.  The observing child would sure to spy them, and run on to them, crushing their flowers and ribbons, and crying—­“You two want to talk secrets, I know.  I can hear what you say.  I’m going to listen, I am.  And I shall tell, too;” when perhaps a knock at the door announced the Nurse to take Miss Amelia to bed, and spread a general rapture of relief.

Then Amelia would run to trample and worry her mother, and after much teasing, and clinging, and complaining, the Nurse would be dismissed, and the fond mamma would turn to the lady next to her, and say with a smile—­“I suppose I must let her stay up a little.  It is such a treat to her, poor child!”

But it was no treat to the visitors.

Besides tormenting her fellow-creatures, Amelia had a trick of teasing animals.  She was really fond of dogs, but she was still fonder of doing what she was wanted not to do, and of worrying everything and everybody about her.  So she used to tread on the tips of their tails, and pretend to give them biscuit, and then hit them on the nose, besides pulling at those few, long, sensitive hairs which thin-skinned dogs wear on the upper lip.