MRS. L. Patrick, where is my son?
PATRICK. I don't know, ma'am.
MRS. L. What? You don't know?
PATRICK. No, ma'am. After taking his lessons this morning, he made me
dress him three times. Yes, ma'am, three times! and by way of paying me
for my trouble, he hit me a blow on the side of my head, and crying,
"Take that, old bog-trotter"--he ran off laughing; and five minutes
after that, when I was talking with Andrew on the edge of the hill at
the back of the house, he came suddenly up behind and upset us both. My
back is all but cracked.
[_Rubs his back._
MR. S. You see how he treats your servants!
MRS. L. Well! but he did it laughing. It was only his fun, dear little
fellow! Patrick, go find him, and bring him here.
PATRICK. And suppose, ma'am, he won't come?
MRS. L. Tell him his _mother_ wants him.