"You're a nice-looking article to be looking for a situation," remarked Mrs. Hardy. "Now, how often would you clap the child on the ground and run off, if you heard the squeak of Blind Davie's fiddle?"
"Mother, sure you know, when the children were little, 'twas always me that kept them best. I love little children, and I would never hurt one—and you know that, mother."
"Well, I don't think you would, to say true," answered the mother. "Try her for a month, Mrs. Eyre, without wages. Washing is a scattery trade, no doubt—takes a power of method. And Hetty has no method."
"Oh, do, Mrs. Eyre—please do! If—if—I didn't see—or hear—Oh, ma'am, do try me! I'll do my best to please you."
"Well, Hetty, I will try you. Come to me on Monday."
"To-morrow, ma'am, if you like. I could have her ready."
"Monday will do. Come early, Hetty. I will try you for a month, and after that, if you stay with me, I will pay you at the rate of five pounds a year, paid quarterly, and we will count this first month in your first quarter. You will have plenty to do, but you look strong and healthy, so you will not find it too much. But you must try to remember what I tell you to do."
"I will try, indeed, ma'am. I am real tired of always being wrong."
"Then good-bye until Monday. And don't cry any more, Hetty; crying never did any good yet. If you will remember that you are one of Christ's servants as well as mine, and that to please Him should be your first thought, I am sure you will get over your heedless ways. Good-bye, Mrs. Hardy. I must go now."
But Mrs. Hardy followed her visitor out of the house and shut the door.