me, is the
uncertainty; for it seems I must stay another week still, and hope
certainly to go Thursday after. For poor Mrs. Jervis will go at the same
time, she says, and can't be ready before.

Oh! that I was once well with you!--Though he is very civil too at
present, and not so cross as he was: and yet he is as vexatious another
way, as you shall hear. For yesterday he had a rich suit of clothes
brought home, which they call a birth-day suit; for he intends to go to
London against next birth-day, to see the court; and our folks will have
it he is to be made a lord.--I wish they may make him an honest man, as
he was always thought; but I have not found it so, alas for me!

And so, as I was saying, he had these clothes come home, and he tried
them on. And before he pulled them off, he sent for me, when nobody else
was in the parlour with him: Pamela, said he, you are so neat and so
nice in your own dress, (Alack-a-day, I didn't know I was!) that you
must be a judge of ours. How are these clothes made? Do they fit me?--I
am no judge, said I, and please your honour; but I think they look very
fine.

His waistcoat stood on end with silver lace, and he looked very grand.
But what he did last, has made me very serious, and I could make him no
compliments. Said he, Why don't you wear your usual clothes? Though I
think every thing looks well upon you (for I still continue in my new
dress). I said, I have no clothes, sir, I ought to call my own, but
these: and it is no matter what such an one as I wears. Said he, Why you
look very serious, Pamela. I see you can bear malice.--Yes, so I can,
sir, said I, according to the occasion! Why, said he, your eyes always
look red, I think. Are you not a fool to take my last freedom so much to
heart? I am sure you, and that fool Mrs. Jervis, frightened me, by your
hideous squalling, as much as I could frighten you. That is all we
had for it, said I; and if you could be so afraid of your own servants
knowing of your attempts upon a poor unworthy creature, that is under
your protection while I stay, surely your honour ought to be more afraid
of God Almighty, in whose presence we all stand, in every action of
our lives, and to whom the greatest, as well as the least, must be
accountable, let them think what they list.

He took my hand, in a kind of good-humoured mockery, and said, Well
urged, my pretty preacher! When my Lincolnshire chaplain dies, I'll
put thee on a gown and cassock, and