'You're going to be good, Topsy, you understand?' said Mr. St. Clare.

'Oh yes, mas'r' said Topsy again, meekly folding her hands, but with
another twinkle in her eyes.

'Now cousin, what is this for? Your house is full of these little
plagues as it is. I get up in the morning and find one asleep behind the
door; see one black head poking out from under the table; another lying
on the mat. They tumble over the kitchen floor, so that a body can't put
their foot down without treading on them. What on earth did you want to
bring this one for?'

'For you to teach, didn't I tell you?'

'I don't want her, I'm sure. I have more to do with them now than I
want.'

'Well the fact is, cousin,' said Mr. St. Clare, drawing her aside, 'she
belonged to some people who were dreadfully cruel and beat her. I
couldn't bear to hear her screaming every day, so I bought her. I will
give her to you. Do try and make something of her.'

'Well, I'll do what I can,' said Miss Ophelia. 'She is fearfully dirty,
and half naked.'

'Well, take her downstairs, and tell somebody to clean her up, and give
her some decent clothes.'

Getting Topsy clean was a very long business. But at last it was done.