“Ma,” said Jane Watkinson, “you had better tell him what speech to speak.”

“Speak Cato or Plato,” said his mother.  “Which do you call it?  Come now, Benny—­how does it begin?  ’You are quite right and reasonable, Plato.’  That’s it.”

“Speak Lucius,” said his sister Jane.  “Come now, Benny—­say ’your thoughts are turned on peace.’”

The little boy looked very much as if they were not, and as if meditating an outbreak.

“No, no!” exclaimed Christopher, “let him say Hamlet.  Come now, Benny—­’To be or not to be.’”

“It ain’t to be at all,” cried Benny, “and I won’t speak the least bit of it for any of you.  I hate that speech!”

“Only see his obstinacy,” said the solemn Joseph.  “And is he to be given up to?”

“Speak anything, Benny,” said Mrs. Watkinson, “anything so that it is only a speech.”

All the Watkinson voices now began to clamor violently at the obstinate child—­“Speak a speech! speak a speech! speak a speech!” But they had no more effect than the reiterated exhortations with which nurses confuse the poor heads of babies, when they require them to “shake a day-day—­shake a day-day!”

Mrs. Morland now interfered, and begged that the sleepy little boy might be excused; on which he screamed out that “he wasn’t sleepy at all, and would not go to bed ever.”

“I never knew any of my children behave so before,” said Mrs. Watkinson.  “They are always models of obedience, ma’am.  A look is sufficient for them.  And I must say that they have in every way profited by the education we are giving them.  It is not our way, ma’am, to waste our money in parties and fooleries, and fine furniture and fine clothes, and rich food, and all such abominations.  Our first duty is to our children, and to make them learn everything that is taught in the schools.  If they go wrong, it will not be for want of education.  Hester, my dear, come and talk to Miss Morland in French.”

Hester (unlike her little brother that would not speak a speech) stepped boldly forward, and addressed Caroline Morland with:  “Parlez-vous Francais, mademoiselle?  Comment se va madame votre mere?  Aimez-vous la musique?  Aimez-vous la danse?  Bon jour—­bon soir—­bon repos.  Comprenez-vous?”

To this tirade, uttered with great volubility, Miss Morland made no other reply than, “Oui—­je comprens.”

“Very well, Hester—­very well indeed,” said Mrs. Watkinson.  “You see, ma’am,” turning to Mrs. Morland, “how very fluent she is in French; and she has only been learning eleven quarters.”

After considerable whispering between Jane and her mother, the former withdrew, and sent in by the Irish girl a waiter with a basket of soda biscuit, a pitcher of water, and some glasses.  Mrs. Watkinson invited her guests to consider themselves at home and help themselves freely, saying:  “We never let cakes, sweetmeats, confectionery, or any such things enter the house, as they would be very unwholesome for the children, and it would be sinful to put temptation in their way.  I am sure, ma’am, you will agree with me that the plainest food is the best for everybody.  People that want nice things may go to parties for them; but they will never get any with me.”