MES. DISCIPLINE’S COTTAGE. 147

Mrs. Discipline was a little woman, with a wrinkled face and
bright beady black eyes ; her hair was all drawn up on the top of her
head, and hidden away under a high mob-cap; her petticoats were
short and trim, she wore highly polished shoes on her feet, and she
held in her hand a small switch.

“Do you want me to show you the way to the scullery?” she
said.

“Yes, please,” answered poor Buttercup.

“Oh no, Discipline,” interrupted Patience.

“Oh yes, Patience,” laughed Discipline. “How am I to train
the boy if I can’t do it in my own way? There is the way to the
scullery, little man, and if you can’t find the blacking and brushes
and boots, you have but to let me know, and I'll show you
again.” :

With these words she gave Buttercup two sharp strokes with her
switch, that sent him flying towards a certain door, which imme-
diately opened to admit him, and then shut with a bang behind him.

He never felt so frightened in his life. He was so terrified by the
sudden change in his surroundings that he did not venture to ery, or
so throw himself on the ground, or to behave in any of the spoilt ways
with which he used to favour his family when things went wrong with
him at home.

On the contrary, he looked everywhere for the brushes and the
blacking and the boots, for he greatly feared that if he did not im-
mediately begin his task, Mrs. Discipline would come in and show
him how. Mrs. Discipline’s way of showing him how to do things
was certainly not to his taste, and he made up his mind to ask her
no questions, but to try and find out for himself.

“But how I wish I might go back with Mrs. Patience to her
cottage! he murmured. ‘‘Mrs. Patience is quite a delightful
person beside that dreadful Mrs. Discipline! Oh, what shall I do if
I have to live long with her?”

“Shall I come in and show you where the blacking and the
brushes and the boots are?” called out Mrs. Discipline, in her rasp-
ing voice, from the other side of the closed door.

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