"I wouldn't let her go to you, ma'am, only I do think she may do well with you. She is fond of children, and children take to her at once. My little Bob, that was a sickly baby, was never so good as when Hetty had him. And I know things go on here that take her mind off her work. People coming and going, and the door obliged to be kept open, and all. She may be more correct-like when there's none of that going on. But don't you be soft with her. She's a girl that takes a deal of scolding, and I'm just afraid you are not one to give her enough of it. And if you praise her, ma'am, her head's turned directly. She's not a bit like Annie; so don't expect it."
"Ah, well, I will try her for a month, Mrs. Hardy. I can promise no more than that."
"Nor would I ask more, ma'am. Good-bye, ma'am, and thank you. If you tame our Hetty,—Heedless Hetty, as our boys call her,—I'll say you could do anything."
"I shall try to make her tame herself, Mrs. Hardy."
"She'll never do that, ma'am."
"Ah, Mrs. Hardy, you don't remember that she will not have to do it in her own strength. That would be too much for any of us. But think of the words, 'If any lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not.' My mother said to me once, 'The difficulty does not lie so much in your faults as in the fact that you do not see that they are sins; and even when you do see this, you do not go the right way to be cured of them; for nothing but the love of God shed abroad in our hearts by His Holy Spirit can cure the least fault.' But I must really get home now; so good-bye, Mrs. Hardy."
Mrs. Hardy went indoors again. She found that the two girls had finished putting the things into the baskets, and she did not observe that Hetty, in the hurry of her mind, had put three heavy sheets on the top of Miss Posnett's stiff collars and frilled nightcaps. But when Miss Posnett sent those articles back on Monday, it was well for Hetty that she was out of the way.
"Hetty," began Mrs. Hardy, "you are in luck for once, and I hope you're aware of it. Mrs. Eyre ain't rich, but a lady down to her very shoes, and she'll be kind to you. If you lose this chance, I think you'd better emigrate to some savage place where folk won't mind your wild ways; only mind they're no cannibals, for you're plump and young, and if they found you of no use, they might think it better to eat you."
"Mother! how can you?" cried Hetty.
"Take off that dress now, and give it a good patching. Matty, look up all her things; we must mend and wash them. And then I'll go and buy her some neat aprons. Oh, dear, look at her Sunday frock! Did you sleep in it, Hetty? Here, Matty—your fingers are cleverer than mine; mend this, like a good girl. Even if we get her back in a week, let us send her out decent."