poor little dear! you are just like all the rest."

But she said it to herself, and Tom neither heard nor saw her. Now, you
must not fancy that she was sentimental at all. If you do, and think
that she is going to let off you, or me, or any human being when we do
wrong, because she is too tender-hearted to punish us, then you will
find yourself very much mistaken, as many a man does every year and
every day.

But what did the strange fairy do when she saw all her lollipops eaten?

Did she fly at Tom, catch him by the scruff of the neck, hold him, howk
him, hump him, hurry him, hit him, poke him, pull him, pinch him, pound
him, put him in the corner, shake him, slap him, set him on a cold stone
to reconsider himself, and so forth?

Not a bit. You may watch her at work if you know where to find her. But
you will never see her do that. For, if she had, she knew quite well Tom
would have fought, and kicked, and bit, and said bad words, and turned
again that moment into a naughty little heathen chimney-sweep, with his
hand, like Ishmael's of old, against every man, and every man's hand
against him.

Did she question him, hurry him, frighten him, threaten him, to make him
confess? Not a bit. You may see her, as I said, at her work often enough
if you know where to look for her: but you will never see her do that.
For, if she had, she would have tempted him to tell lies in his fright;
and that would have been worse for him, if possible, than even becoming
a heathen chimney-sweep again.

No. She leaves that for anxious parents and teachers (lazy ones, some
call them), who, instead of giving children a fair trial, such as they
would expect and demand for themselves, force them by fright to confess
their own faults--which is so cruel and unfair that no judge on the
bench dare do it to the wickedest thief or murderer, for the good
British law forbids it--ay, and even punish them to make them confess,
which is so detestable a crime that it is never committed now, save by
Inquisitors, and Kings of Naples, and a few other wretched people of
whom the world is weary. And then they say, "We have trained up the
child in the way he should go, and when he grew up he has departed from
it. Why then did Solomon say that he would not depart from it?" But
perhaps the way of beating, and hurrying, and frightening, and
questioning, was not the way that the child should go; for it is not
even the way in which a colt should go if you want to