I particularly remember one wild, snowy afternoon, soon after my return in January: the children had all come up from dinner, loudly declaring that they meant “to be naughty;” and they had well kept their resolution, though I had talked myself hoarse, and wearied every muscle in my throat, in the vain attempt to reason them out of it. I had got Tom pinned up in a corner, whence, I told him, he should not escape till he had done his appointed task. Meantime, Fanny had possessed herself of my work-bag, and was rifling its contents—and spitting into it besides. I told her to let it alone, but to no purpose, of course. “Burn it, Fanny!” cried Tom: and _this_ command she hastened to obey. I sprang to snatch it from the fire, and Tom darted to the door. “Mary Ann, throw her desk out of the window!” cried he: and my precious desk, containing my letters and papers, my small amount of cash, and all my valuables, was about to be precipitated from the three-storey window. I flew to rescue it. Meanwhile Tom had left the room, and was rushing down the stairs, followed by Fanny. Having secured my desk, I ran to catch them, and Mary Ann came scampering after. All three escaped me, and ran out of the house into the garden, where they plunged about in the snow, shouting and screaming in exultant glee. What must I do? If I followed them, I should probably be unable to capture one, and only drive them farther away; if I did not, how was I to get them in? And what would their parents think of me, if they saw or heard the children rioting, hatless, bonnetless, gloveless, and bootless, in the deep soft snow? While I stood in this perplexity, just without the door, trying, by grim looks and angry words, to awe them into subjection, I heard a voice behind me, in harshly piercing tones, exclaiming,— “Miss Grey! Is it possible? What, in the devil’s name, can you be thinking about?” “I can’t get them in, sir,” said I, turning round, and beholding Mr. Bloomfield, with his hair on end, and his pale blue eyes bolting from their sockets. “But I INSIST upon their being got in!” cried he, approaching nearer, and looking perfectly ferocious. “Then, sir, you must call them yourself, if you please, for they won’t listen to me,” I replied, stepping back. “Come in with you, you filthy brats; or I’ll horsewhip you every one!” roared he; and the children instantly obeyed. “There, you see!—they come at the first word!” “Yes, when _you_ speak.” “And it’s very strange, that when you’ve the care of ’em you’ve no better control over ’em than that!—Now, there they are—gone upstairs with their nasty snowy feet! Do go after ’em and see them made decent, for heaven’s sake!” That gentleman’s mother was then staying in the house; and, as I ascended the stairs and passed the drawing-room door, I had the satisfaction of hearing the old lady declaiming aloud to her daughter-in-law to this effect (for I could only distinguish the most emphatic words)—