Sometimes, exasperated to the utmost pitch, I would shake her violently by the shoulder, or pull her long hair, or put her in the corner; for which she punished me with loud, shrill, piercing screams, that went through my head like a knife.

She knew I hated this, and when she had shrieked her utmost, would look into my face with an air of vindictive satisfaction, exclaiming,--'_Now_, then! _that's_ for you!' and then shriek again and again, till I was forced to stop my ears.

Often these dreadful cries would bring Mrs.Bloomfield up to inquire what was the matter?
'Mary Ann is a naughty girl, ma'am.' 'But what are these shocking screams ?' 'She is screaming in a passion.' 'I never heard such a dreadful noise! You might be killing her.

Why is she not out with her brother ?' 'I cannot get her to finish her lessons.' 'But Mary Ann must be a _good_ girl, and finish her lessons.' This was blandly spoken to the child.

'And I hope I shall _never_ hear such terrible cries again!' And fixing her cold, stony eyes upon me with a look that could not be mistaken, she would shut the door, and walk away.