"But people may often mean very kindly who have not my dear mother's pleasant ways. That kind of manner is a great gift, but some people have not got it, and that they cannot help. They must do the best they can."
"The best they could do, Mrs. Eyre, meaning no offence, would be to stay at home. Folks are only human after all, if they are washerwomen; and they have their feelings."
"Miss Posnett was very kind that time I had a bad whitlow," put in Martha.
"Who's named Miss Posnett?" inquired her mother. "Mind your manners, Matty, and name no names."
"All this time, Mrs. Hardy, I have not told you my errand here to-day. You know the doctors say that my little Flora must not be allowed to walk, or even to stand. She has never been strong since her bad fall. Neither will they allow her to be drawn about in a little carriage, because she gets so dreadfully cold. They say she must be carried. The consequence of this is that I must have a girl to help me, for I never could carry her—she is light enough, but I am not very strong. Now I remember what a comfort your Annie was to me during the short time I had her, and I want to know if you can spare me one of your other girls. It may be only for a time, for Flora may get well and strong again, but I would teach her as I taught Annie, and then when she leaves me she could get a good place, as Annie has done."
"Lady Drysdale says that Annie is a right good servant, and that even the grand nurse is pleased with her. Well, it would be the making of Matty, but I can't spare her, and that's the plain truth. Though I hate refusing you, ma'am."
"But is not Hetty fifteen? Older, I think, than Matty was when Annie came to me."
"No doubt, ma'am. But Matty was Matty, and Hetty is Hetty. There's a sight of difference in girls!"
"Mother," said Matty, "I know you could not spare me, and I shouldn't like to leave you. But if Mrs. Eyre would try Hetty. She is very strong, and very willing. Fond of children too, and used to them—very good-tempered Hetty is. Don't give Mrs. Eyre a bad opinion of poor Hetty, mother, for it's my belief she would do well."
Mrs. Hardy left off working and sat down, in a curiously divided frame of mind. Hetty had been peculiarly heedless and troublesome that whole week, and was just now crying in the bedroom behind the kitchen, after what her mother called "a raking good scolding." It was hard to keep silence, for she had been very angry, and yet she had a notion that Hetty might do better away from home, and from all the temptations to idleness that beset her there. Not that the girl was exactly idle, for she could work well, and liked to work, but let any one interrupt her, if it were only a kitten running into the kitchen, or a noise in the street, and the work was forgotten. Only last night she had been bringing a hot iron from the fire, when a fiddle struck up a doleful air outside, and Hetty clapped down the iron on the ironing blanket and ran out of the house. Mrs. Hardy had been apprised of her carelessness by the horrible smell of the burning blanket, in which there was, of course, a big hole. It was the last of many sins, and no one could deny that the "raking good scolding" was well deserved.