Well, as I said before, I got the weaning over beautifully. Poor dear mother was delighted at having the job, though father--just like all the selfish men--was quite of a different way of thinking. Of course I kept away from the dear little pet for more than a whole week, though I’m sure I needn’t tell my fair readers that it was a hard, very hard struggle for me to do so, as I made certain that the darling was fretting its poor little life out for want of it. However, when I went to fetch the dear, mother told me that it had been as good as gold all the time, and had never cried once for it; for bless the little chick’s heart, it’s got its own mother’s sweet temper--so it has. And upon my word, I had only just got my new nurse in, and my little toodle-loodle-lumpties (if I may be allowed so strong an expression) was only just beginning to take its food nicely, when, lo and behold, if that Easter Sunday didn’t pop round upon me! I never knew such a price as gooseberries were--three-and-sixpence for a little tiddy basketful, scarcely enough for one person; and Edward is such a pig at pastry, especially if it’s short crust; though I take good care always to make it flakey. However, it was a solemn feast; and if they had been twenty shillings a quart, I should have felt it my bounden duty to have given as much for them. On the Saturday before Easter Sunday, I saw a little boy come to the door; and as Miss Betsy was up-stairs, busy with the beds, I went and opened it, when, bless us and save us, if it wasn’t a little dirty-faced monkey who had brought round her ladyship’s papers for the week from her twopenny-halfpenny newsvender. Oh, yes! there they were--“Penny Sunday Times,” as usual, with another horrible engraving; and the fifteenth part of “EMILY FITZORMOND, _or the Deserted One_;” together with the commencement of “ELA THE OUTCAST, _or the Gipsy Girl of Rosemary Dell_;” with the first number of which Nos. 2, 3, and 4, were given gratis. Like a good-natured silly as I was, I went, letting her have the highly-exciting rubbish, instead of tearing it all up, as I ought to have done; and nicely I bit my fingers for my folly, for, just as I might have expected, there she was, all the next day, so interested with that stupid outcast of an Ela, that she couldn’t get my lamb down before the fire until it was so late, that when it came to table it was only just warmed through, and every one knows how nice underdone lamb is. However, said I to myself, thank goodness, there’s a good large pudding coming, or else I don’t know what I should do. But, Lord-a-mercy me! when that came up, I thought I should have died of disgust and vexation, for, drat the novel-reading blockhead, if she hadn’t been so taken up with the fate of that bothering fal-lal gipsy-girl of Rosemary Dell, indeed, that I declare, if she didn’t go beating up a nasty, filthy, bad French egg, in my beautiful expensive little green gooseberries, with the wood in them.