At last, the upper-maid found my book, and showed it to my
mistress, who told me, that wenches like me might spend their time
better; that she never knew any of the readers that had good designs in
their heads; that she could always find something else to do with her
time, than to puzzle over books; and did not like that such a fine lady
should sit up for her young master.
This was the first time that I found it thought criminal or dangerous to
know how to read. I was dismissed decently, lest I should tell tales,
and had a small gratuity above my wages.
I then lived with a gentlewoman of a small fortune. This was the only
happy part of my life. My mistress, for whom publick diversions were too
expensive, spent her time with books, and was pleased to find a maid who
could partake her amusements. I rose early in the morning, that I might
have time in the afternoon to read or listen, and was suffered to tell
my opinion, or express my delight. Thus fifteen months stole away, in
which I did not repine that I was born to servitude. But a burning fever
seized my mistress, of whom I shall say no more, than that her servant
wept upon her grave.
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