The good man took his seat at the table, and during the time of breakfast Mrs. Williams told him all my little story, and concluded by urging the request that he would try to get me engaged to work in Mr. Freeman's gardens.
'I will do what I can,' said he; 'but this is a bad time of year to take on a fresh hand, and the child looks but weakly, and that, you know, is against her. However, I'll give her the chance, and take her down with me in the cart, and I'll go with her to Mr. Freeman and say what I can for her; and if he engages her, why, I'll let her be at my house as one of my children—that is, if my dame agrees to it, and belike she may, as we have children of our own, and don't know what they may come to; but if master will not engage her, why, I must bring her back again next market-day, for I cannot afford to keep her for nothing.'
'No, no,' said Mrs. Williams; 'I don't desire that you should. If Mr. Freeman will not engage her, bring her back, and I must try to do something else for her; but say all you can in her favour. She is a friendless child, and you don't know what your own children may come to.'
'Very true,' said he. 'I'll do all I can for her. But what be we to call her, as she has no right kind of name? Lady Anne is so long that I shall never get it all out.'
'It is no longer than Mary Anne,' replied she; 'and I think if you are a wise man you will call her by her title and make your children do the same. If it should be the means of discovering her father, it might put a pretty sum into your pocket.'
'Why, as for that, it might and it might not; but if it is the girl's name she shall be called by it, so there's an end to that. And now I must away to settle my money matters, and I'll come back for the child about eleven o'clock, so good-bye t'ye for the present.'
Away went the man, leaving Mrs. Williams much pleased with the success she had met with, as she said she had not a doubt but Mr. Freeman would engage me when he knew it was one of his best customers that asked the favour. I was much pleased too, for, as I could not stay with Mrs. Williams, I did not venture to form a higher wish than to be engaged at Mr. Freeman's, for my spirits had been so much broken during my stay at Smith's that I no longer dared to indulge the hope of ever finding my father.
About eleven o'clock my new friend, John Davis, came for me. Taking my little bundle under his arm, he conducted me to his cart. He lifted me in, and putting his horses into motion, we went shaking and rattling through the streets. This part of the journey was disagreeable enough; but when, at Knightsbridge, we entered the turnpike-road, then it began to be very pleasant. A complete thaw had succeeded to the frost; the fields and hedges looked green, and the air was as soft and mild as if it had been spring. I was seated on a truss of hay in the corner of the cart, and as we rode slowly along my spirits seemed to revive, and I once more indulged the pleasing hope of finding my father; then, again, as we advanced, my hope was damped by fear lest Mr. Freeman would not engage me, or lest Mrs. Davis should refuse to let me be at her house. I continued in this agitation of mind during the time of our little journey. At last we stopped at a cottage by the roadside, at a small distance from Turnham Green. John Davis lifted me out of the cart and led me into the house, where we were received by a woman, whom I immediately found was his wife.
'You are late to-day,' said she; 'and, pray, who is this you have brought with you?'
He took his seat near the fire (while I remained standing near the door), and briefly related my story to her, particularly dwelling on Mrs. Williams being such a good customer that he could not refuse to bring me.