Shortly after this adventure, I was sent to live with a farmer in the town, whose heart was as cold as the hoar-frost which often blighted his fairest prospects. Fortunately for me, however, his wife was of a different disposition. This good dame proved almost a second mother to me, and frequently screened me from the effects of my master's rage; but so restless and untoward (to say the truth) were my inclinations and propensities, and so imperious in his commands, and unrelenting in his anger, was my master, that in spite of my kind mistress's intercession in my favour, I seldom passed a day without being subjected to his cruel lash. This treatment was but little calculated either to conciliate my affections, or to effect a reformation in my conduct. My feelings became hardened under the lash of oppression; and my desire to leave a place so little congenial with my disposition increased daily. Meantime, all the cats and dogs in my master's house were made to go through military evolutions; the hoes and rakes were transformed into muskets, and the geese and turkeys into soldiers. Even my master's whip, which was always in requisition at the conclusion of these performances, could not eradicate my propensity for "soldiering." Every time his back was turned, my military exercises were resumed; and when I could not by possibility find time to be thus actively engaged, I solaced myself with whistling, "God save the King," "The British Grenadiers," and "See, the conquering hero comes." The first of these tunes I once commenced in the churchyard, during a funeral service; for which I got the sexton's cane over my back; "that being no place," as the said sexton judiciously remarked, "to show my loyalty in." Even the old women in the parish could not pass me without a military salute, such as "Heads up, missis!" "Eyes right, missis!" "Keep the step, missis!" &c. These pranks often brought me into disgrace and trouble, and usually ended with an application of the end of my master's whip.