The Gift of the Sailor: The String of Pearls & Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street — page 108: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“Mother,” said I one day to her. “Well, Mary, what do you want to tease me about now?” “Didn’t Mrs. Carter the other day say that my aunt left me a fortune?” “What is the child dreaming about?” said my mother. “Do you know what you are talking about, child?—you can’t comprehend.” “T don’t know, mother, but you said it was so to Mrs. Carter.” “Well, then what if I did, child?” “Why, you must have told the truth or a falsehood.” “Well, Miss Impudence!—I told the truth, what then?” “Why, then I am to have a fortune when I grow up, that’s all I mean, mother, and then people will take care of me. I shall not be forgotten, but everything will be done for me, and I shall be thought of first.” My mother looked at me very hard for a moment or two, and then, as if she was actuated by remorse, she made an attempt to speak, but checked herself, and then anger came to her aid, and she said— “Upon my word, miss! what thoughts have you taken into your fancy now? I suppose we shall be compelled to be so many servants to you! I am sure you ought to be ashamed of yourself—you ought, indeed!” “T didn’t know I had done wrong,” I said. “Hold your tongue, will you, or I shall be obliged to flog you?” said my mother, giving me a sound box on the ears that threw me down. “Now, hold your tongue and go up stairs, and give me no more insolence.” I arose and went up stairs, sobbing as if my heart would break. I cannot recollect how many bitter hours I spent there, crying by myself—how many tears I shed upon this matter, and how I compared myself to other children, and how much my situation was worse than theirs by a great deal. They, I thought, had their companions—they had their hours of play. But what companions had I? and what had I in the way of relaxation? What had I to do save to pine over the past, the present, and the future? My infantile thoughts and hours were alike occupied by the sad reflections that belonged to a more mature age than mine; and yet I was so. Days, weeks, and months passed on—there was no change, and I grew apace; but I was always regarded by my family with dislike, and always neglected. I could not account for it in any other way than they wished me dead. It may appear very dreadful —very dreadful indeed—but what else was I to think? The old servant’s words came upon me mind full of their meaning—if I died before I was one-and-twenty, they would have all my aunt’s money. “They wish me to die,” I thought, “they wish me to die; and I shall die—I am sure I shall die! But they will kill me—they have tried it by neglecting me, and making me sad. What can I do—what can I do?” These thoughts were the current matter of my mind, and how often do they recur to my recollection now I am in this dull, dreadful place! I can never forget the past. I am here because I have rights elsewhere, which others can enjoy, and do enjoy. However, that is an old evil. I have thus suffered long. But to return. After a year had gone by—two, I think, must have passed over my head—before I met with anything that was at all calculated to injure me. I must have been near ten years old, when, one evening, I had no sooner got into bed, then I found I had been put into damp—I may say wet sheets. They were so damp that I could not doubt but this was done on purpose. I am sure no negligence ever came to anything so positive and so abominable in all my life. I got out of bed and took them off, and then wrapped myself up in the blankets and slept till morning, without awaking any one. When morning came, I inquired who put the sheets there? “What do you mean, minx?” ® said my mother. “Only that somebody was bad and wicked enough to put positively wet sheets in the bed; it could not have been done through carelessness—it must have been done through sheer wilfulness. I’m quite convinced of that.” “You will get yourself well thrashed if you talk like that,” said my mother. “The sheets are not damp; there are none in the house that are damp.” “These are wet.” This reply brought her hand down heavily upon my shoulder, and I was forced upon my knees. I could not help myself, so violent was the blow. “There,” added my mother, “take that, and that, and answer me if you dare.” As she said this she struck me to the ground, and my head came in violent contact with the table, and I was rendered insensible. How long I continued so I cannot tell. What I first saw when I awoke was the dreariness of one of the attics into which I had been thrust, and thrown upon a small bed without any furniture. I looked around and saw nothing that indicated comfort, and upon looking at my clothes there were traces of blood. This, I had no doubt, came from myself. I was hurt, and upon putting my hand to my head, found that I was much hurt, as my head was bound up. At that moment the door was opened, and the old servant came in. “Well, Miss Mary,” she said, “and so you have come round again? I really began to be afraid you were killed. What a fall you must have had.” “Fall,” said I; “who said it was a fall?” CORniclooo S CO)