Among
these was Mr. Wrayburn, whom we find calling upon Miss Wren one evening:
"And so, Miss Jenny," he said, "I cannot persuade you to dress me a
doll?"
"No," replied Miss Wren snappishly; "If you want one, go and buy it at
the shop."
"And my charming young goddaughter," said Mr. Wrayburn plaintively,
"down in Hertfordshire--"
("Humbugshire, you mean, I think," interposed Miss Wren)--"is to be put
upon the cold footing of the general public, and is to derive no
advantage from my private acquaintance with the Court dressmaker?"
"If it's any advantage to your charming godchild, and oh, a precious
godfather she has got!" replied Miss Wren, pricking at him in the air
with her needle, "to be informed that the Court dressmaker knows your
tricks and your manners, you may tell her so, by post, with my
compliments."
Miss Wren was busy with her work, by candlelight, and Mr. Wrayburn, half
amused and half vexed, stood by her bench looking on, while her
troublesome child was in the corner, in deep disgrace on account of his
bad behavior, and as Miss Jenny worked, she rated him severely,
accompanying each reproach with a stamp of her foot.
"Pay five shillings for you indeed!" she exclaimed in response to his
appeal for money. "How many hours do you suppose it costs me to earn
five shillings, you infamous boy? Don't cry like that, or I'll throw a
doll at you. Pay five shillings fine for you, indeed! Fine in more ways
than one, I think! I'd give the dustman five shillings to carry you off
in the dust-cart.
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