The old nurse's anger even exceeded mine; she declared that her child
should not be treated so, and advised me to snatch it off and tear it to
pieces. I went to school, not having exactly made up my mind whether to
follow this advice or not; but my afternoon lessons fully made up for
the deficiency of the morning, and I escaped the dreaded punishment. I
had gone with several companions to the closet in which we deposited
our hats and shawls, and while engaged in the process of robing, I heard
a very loud voice talking in great excitement, and one which I
immediately recognised. I overheard Mammy exclaiming: "Where is my
child? Has she got that horrid thing on her head? I want to take it off
before she goes home."

Blushing with mortification, as I noticed the tittering of the
school-girls, called forth by the loud tone and strange figure of the
old nurse, who had rushed into the room in her usual attire of
short-gown and petticoat, I came hastily forward, and was immediately
seized by Mammy, who exclaimed in surprise: "Why, I though you said you
were going to have that thing on your head! I was determined that no
child of mine should wear it, so I came after you to take it off."

Mammy was one of the most independent persons I ever saw; she cared for
no one's frown, and poured forth the whole love of her warm Irish heart
upon us--tormenting and troublesome as we were. Sometimes she sung to us
of "Acushla machree" and "Mavourneen," and Mammy's Irish songs were
especial favorites with the young fry of the nursery. When we were
particularly obstreperous, she threatened to go away and leave us, and
never come back again; a threat which always produced copious showers of
tears, and promises of better behavior. Often have I watched her in
dismay as she dressed herself to go out--fearful that she would really
put her threat in execution, especially as conscience whispered that I