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Updated: May 10, 2025
When Miss Biddums had crossed his royal will, he reversed the epithet to vex that estimable lady, and all things evil were, until the tears of repentance swept away spite, "Calcutta bad."
Miss Biddums had looked after many little children in her time, and served in many establishments.
Morning and evening it was his duty to salute his father and mother the former with a grave shake of the hand, and the latter with an equally grave kiss. Once, indeed, he had put his arms round his mother's neck, in the fashion he used toward Miss Biddums.
So he opened the box to get full satisfaction for his iniquity, and saw a most beautiful Star that shone and winked, and was altogether lovely and desirable. "Vat," said His Majesty, meditatively, "is a 'parkle cwown, like what I will wear when I go to heaven. I will wear it on my head Miss Biddums says so. I would like to wear it now. I would like to play wiv it.
His Majesty the King, therefore, wisely confined himself to his own territories, where only Miss Biddums, and she feebly, disputed his sway. From Miss Biddums he had picked up his simple theology and welded it to the legends of gods and devils that he had learned in the servants' quarters. To Miss Biddums he confided with equal trust his tattered garments and his more serious griefs.
Miss Biddums, it must be confessed, spoiled him as much as his nature admitted, in some sort of recompense for what she called "the hard ways of his Papa and Mamma." She, like her charge, knew nothing of the trouble between man and wife the savage contempt for a woman's stupidity on the one side, or the dull, rankling anger on the other.
There was no room for His Majesty the King either in official reserve or mundane gorgeousness. He had discovered that, ages and ages ago before even Chimo came to the house, or Miss Biddums had ceased grizzling over a packet of greasy letters which appeared to be her chief treasure on earth.
The Commissioner's wife, unskilled in the art of war, continued her questionings. "I don't know," said Mrs. Austell. "These things are left to Miss Biddums, and, of course, she does not ill-treat the child." The Commissioner's wife left hastily. The last sentence jarred upon her nerves. "Doesn't ill-treat the child! As if that were all!
Miss Biddums had informed him, more than once, what was the ultimate destiny of "fieves," and when he passed the interminable mud flanks of the Central Jail, he shook in his little strapped shoes. But release came after an afternoon spent in playing boats by the edge of the tank at the bottom of the garden.
I will keep it to play wiv until Mamma says where is it, and then I will say: 'I tookt it and I am sorry. I will not hurt it because it is a 'parkle cwown. But Miss Biddums will tell me to put it back. I will not show it to Miss Biddums." If Mamma had come in at that moment all would have gone well.
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