that sometimes."

"O Maria, you mustn't speak so!" said Matilda, shocked even in the
midst of her grief.

"Well, and I don't mean it," said Maria; "but what can I do, Tilly? If
she takes a notion in her head, she will follow it, you know; and it
would take more than ever I saw to turn her. And you see, she thinks
cold water is the best thing in the world."

"Yes, but I _can't_ bear to have her bathe me!" Matilda repeated. "And
I don't like cold water. She rubs, and she scrubs, and she throws the
water over me, and the soap-suds, and she don't care at all whether I
like it or not. I wish I could get away! I wish I could get away,
Maria! Oh, I wish I could get away!"

"So do I wish I could," said Maria, gloomily eyeing her little sister's
sobs. "We've got to stand it, Tilly, for the present. I haven't
anywhere to go to, and you haven't. Come, don't cry. Eat your bread and
meat. I dare say you will get used to cold water."

"I shall not get used to _her_," said Matilda.

However, a part of Maria's prediction did come true. Cold water is less
terrible, the more acquaintance one has with it; and probably Mrs.
Candy's assertion was also true, that it was capital for Matilda. And
Matilda would not have much minded it at last, if only the
administration could have been left to herself. But Mrs. Candy kept
that in her own hands, knowing, probably, that it was one effectual
means of keeping Matilda herself in her hands. Every morning, when Mrs.
Candy's bell rang, Matilda was obliged to run down-stairs and submit
herself to her aunt's manipulations, which were pretty much as she had
described them; and under those energetic unscrupulous hands, which
dealt with her as they listed, and regarded her wishes in no sort nor
respect, Matilda was quite helpless; and she was subdued. Mrs. Candy
had attained that end; she no longer thought of resisting her aunt in
any way. It was the first time in Matilda's life that she had been
obliged to obey another. Between her mother and herself the question
had hardly arisen, except upon isolated occasions. She dared not let
the question ever arise now with Mrs. Candy. She read, and darned, and
patched, and grew skilful in those latter arts; she never objected now.
She came to her bath, and never uttered now the vain pleadings which at
first even her dignity gave way to make. Mrs. Candy had quite put down
the question of dignity. Matilda did not venture to disobey her any
more in anything. Sh