MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,

All my fellow-servants have now some notion that I am to go away; but
can't imagine for what. Mrs. Jervis tells them, that my father and
mother, growing in years, cannot live without me; and so I go home to
them, to help to comfort their old age; but they seem not to believe it.

What they found it out by was; the butler heard him say to me, as I
passed by him, in the entry leading to the hall, Who's that? Pamela,
sir, said I. Pamela! said he, How long are you to stay here?--Only,
please your honour, said I, till I have done the waistcoat; and it is
almost finished.--You might, says he, (very roughly indeed,) have
finished that long enough ago, I should have thought. Indeed, and please
your honour, said I, I have worked early and late upon it; there is a
great deal of work in it.--Work in it! said he; You mind your pen more
than your needle; I don't want such idle sluts to stay in my house.

He seemed startled, when he saw the butler, as he entered the hall, where
Mr. Jonathan stood. What do you here? said he.--The butler was as much
confounded as I; for, never having been taxed so roughly, I could not
help crying sadly; and got out of both their ways to Mrs. Jervis, and
told my complaint. This love, said she, is the d----! In how many
strange shapes does it make people shew themselves! And in some the
farthest from their hearts.

So one, and then another, has been since whispering, Pray, Mrs. Jervis,
are we to lose Mrs. Pamela? as they always call me--What has she done?
And she tells them, as above, about going home to you.