e and cry, because my
mother beat me, for we were fond of each other. And my mother used to
take Virginia on her knee, and make her say her prayers every night; but
she never did so to me: and I used to hear what Virginia said, and then
go into a corner and repeat it to myself. I could not imagine why
Virginia should be taught to pray, and that I should not.

As I said before, my mother let lodgings, and kept the ground-floor
front room for people to drink tea and smoke in; and I used to take my
little stool and sit at the knees of the pensioners who came in, and
hear all their stories, and try to make out what they meant, for half
was to me incomprehensible; and I brought them fire for their pipes, and
ran messages. Old Ben the Whaler, as they called him, was the one who
took most notice of me, and said that I should be a man one of these
days, which I was very glad to hear then. And I made a little boat for
my sister, which cost me a great deal of trouble and labour; and Ben
helped me to paint it, and I gave it to Virginia, and she and I were
both so pleased; but when my mother saw it, she threw it into the fire,
saying it was "so un-genteel," and we both cried; and old Ben was very
angry, and said something to my mother, which made her sing "High diddle
diddle" for the whole day afterwards.

Such are the slight reminiscences, which must content the reader, of my
early existence.

When I was eight years old (about six years after his last visit), my
father made his appearance; and for the first time, I knew that my
father was alive, for I was but two years old when he left, and I
remembered nothing about him, and I had never heard my mother mention
his name as if he still existed.

My father came in one day very unexpectedly, for he had given no notice
of his return; and it so happened that as he came in, my mother was
beating me with the frying-pan, for having dipped my finger in the
grease in which she had been frying some slices of bacon. She was very
angry, and as she banged me with it, Virginia was pulling at her skirts,
crying and begging her to desist. "You little wretch," cried my mother,
"you'll be just such a sea-monster as your father was--little wulgar
animal, you must put your fingers into the frying-pan, must you? There,
now you've got it." So saying, she put down the frying-pan, and
commenced singing as loud as she could, "Hush-a-bye, baby, Pussy's a
lady."

"Ay, now you're vexed, I daresa