My heart swelled with the sense of wrong, and as I reached the door I turned to say another word, but I could not, and only burst into tears.
'There--don't cry, little Maud--only let us do better for the future.
There--there--there has been enough.' And he kissed my forehead, and gently put me out and closed the door.
In the school-room I took courage, and with some warmth upbraided Madame.
'Wat wicked cheaile!' moaned Madame, demurely.

'Read aloud those three--yes, _those_ three chapters of the Bible, my dear Maud.' There was no special fitness in those particular chapters, and when they were ended she said in a sad tone-- 'Now, dear, you must commit to memory this pretty priaire for umility of art.' It was a long one, and in a state of profound irritation I got through the task.
Mrs.Rusk hated her.

She said she stole wine and brandy whenever the opportunity offered--that she was always asking her for such stimulants and pretending pains in her stomach.

Here, perhaps, there was exaggeration; but I knew it was true that I had been at different times despatched on that errand and pretext for brandy to Mrs.Rusk, who at last came to her bedside with pills and a mustard blister only, and was hated irrevocably ever after.
I felt all this was done to torture me.

But a day is a long time to a child, and they forgive quickly.