Free Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë Page B

Ann, if you will only say the word. Come! you’d better say it at once, and have no more trouble about it.”
    “No.”
    “Then, of course, I can do nothing for you!”
    With me, at her age, or under, neglect and disgrace were the most dreadful of punishments; but on her they made no impression.
    Sometimes, exasperated to the utmost pitch, I would shake her violently by the shoulders, or pull her long hair, or put her in the comer,-for which she punished me with loud, shrill, piercing screams, that went through my head like a knife. She knew I hated this, and when she had shrieked her utmost, would look into my face with an air of vindictive satisfaction, exclaiming—
    “Now then! that’s for you!”
    And then shriek again and again, till I was forced to stop my ears. Often these dreadful cries would bring Mrs. Bloomfield up to inquire what was the matter?
    “Mary Ann is a naughty girl, ma’am.”
    “But what are these shocking screams?”
    “She is screaming in a passion.”
    “I never heard such a dreadful noise! You might be killing her. Why is she not out with her brother?”
    “I cannot get her to finish her lessons.”
    “But Mary Ann must be a good girl, and finish her lessons.” This was blandly spoken to the child. “And I hope I shall never hear such terrible cries again!”
    And fixing her cold, stony eyes upon me with a look that could not be mistaken, she would shut the door, and walk away.
    Sometimes I would try to take the little obstinate creature by surprise, and casually ask her the word while she was thinking of something else: frequently she would begin to say it, and then suddenly check herself, with a provoking look that seemed to say, “Ah! I’m too sharp for you; you shan’t trick it out of me either.”
    On another occasion, I pretended to forget the whole affair; and talked and played with her as usual, till night, when I put her to bed, then bending over her, while she lay all smiles and good humour, just before departing, I said, as cheerfully and kindly as before—
    “Now, Mary Ann, just tell me that word before I kiss you good night: you are a good girl now, and, of course, you will say it.”
    “No, I won’t.”
    “Then I can’t kiss you!”
    “Well, I don’t care.”
    In vain I expressed my sorrow; in vain I lingered for some symptom of contrition; she really “didn’t care,” and I left her alone, and in darkness, wondering most of all at this last proof of insensate stubbornness. In my childhood I could not imagine a more afflictive punishment, than for my mother to refuse to kiss me at night: the very idea was terrible; more than the idea I never felt, for, happily, I never committed a crime that was deemed worthy of such a penalty; but once, I remember, for some transgression of my sister’s, our mother thought proper to inflict it upon her; what she felt, I cannot tell; but my sympathetic tears and suffering for her sake, I shall not soon forget.
    Another troublesome trait in Mary Ann, was her incorrigible propensity to keep running into the nursery to play with her little sisters, and the nurse. This was natural enough, but, as it was against her mother’s express desire, I, of course, forbade her to do so, and did my utmost to keep her with me, but that only increased her relish for the nursery; and the more I strove to keep her out of it, the oftener she went, and the longer she stayed; to the great dissatisfaction of Mrs. Bloomfield, who, I well knew, would impute all the blame of the matter to me.
    Another of my trials was the dressing in the morning: at one time she would not be washed; at another she would not be dressed, unless she might wear some particular frock that, I knew, her mother would not like her to have; at another she would scream, and run away if I attempted to touch her hair. So that, frequently, when, after much trouble and toil, I had, at length, succeeded in bringing her down, the breakfast was nearly half over; and black looks from