Miss Scrimp, a maiden lady, who acknowledged herself to be forty-five—one of the oldest boarders said that had been her age for over ten years—only charged four dollars a week for boarders in her best, lower rooms, and it ran as low as two dollars and a half in the upper story, and two attic chambers—for this was a four-story house. She had but two servants—one to cook, wash, and iron, the other a pitiful, thin little creature, as errand girl, waitress, maid of all work, and all work it was for her, from early dawn till far into the night. She did all the sweeping, set out the table, helped to wash and wipe dishes, carried Miss Scrimp’s market-basket, went to the grocery, cleaned and lighted lamps—indeed, did almost everything that had to be done outside of the kitchen, and bore the abuse of Biddy Lanigan, the cook, and that of her mistress, like a little martyr, as she in truth was.
Little Jess they called her—her full name was Jessie Albemarle—was as good as she could be to all around her, no matter how she was treated, but there was one young girl in that house whom she almost worshiped—first, because Hattie Butler was very good to her; next, because Hattie was really the most beautiful creature she had ever seen on earth.
Though Hattie lodged in the very topmost room of the house, when she came home weary from her daily toil she would find her room swept as clean as clean could be, fresh water in her pitcher, and often a bouquet of flowers, picked up at market or elsewhere, perfuming the little room. And she knew Little Jess had done all this for the love there was between them.
Hattie, I said before, was very beautiful. Just seventeen, and entering on her eighteenth year, her form was full of that slender grace so peculiar to budding womanhood—just tall enough to pass the medium, without being an approach to awkwardness. Eyes of a jet, sparkling black, shaded by long, fringe-like lashes, features of the Grecian type, complexion rich, but not too brown, the expressiveness of her face a very marvel.
No one, to look at her white hands, her slim, tapering fingers, her general appearance, even in her plain dress, would have, at first glance, taken her for a working girl, though she sewed folios in a book-bindery down town for ten hours every day sure, and often much longer when there was overwork to do.
She was a quiet girl, making but few friends, and no intimates, though when I write of her she had been for nearly two years a boarder with Miss Scrimp. The latter, for a wonder, liked her, though, as a general thing, she seemed to hate pretty girls, simply because they were pretty; while she had most likely kept her state of single wretchedness because she was more than plain—she was ugly. She had a sharp, hook nose—a parrot-bill nose, if we dare insult the bird by a comparison. She was cross-eyed, and her eyes were small and greenish-gray in hue. Her cheek bones were high, her chin long and sharp. Her thin lips opened almost from ear to ear, and in her dirty morning gown, slopping around, her form looked like an old coffee-bag, half filled with paper scraps, perambulating about over a pair of old slippers—number sevens if an inch.
But Miss Scrimp really liked Hattie Butler, beautiful as she was, and this was the reason:
At supper-time, before she ate a mouthful, every Saturday night Hattie laid her board money, two dollars and a half, down at the head of the table where Miss Scrimp presided. It had been her habit ever since she came; it was a good example to others, though all did not follow it.
Again, Hattie ate what was placed before her, and never grumbled. She never found hairs in the rancid butter; or, if she did, she kept it to herself. If her bread was dry and hard she soaked it in her tea or coffee, but did not turn her nose up as others did, and threaten to go away if Miss Scrimp did not set a better table.
And, best of all, Hattie was a light eater, as Miss Scrimp often said, in hearing of her other boarders, too sensible to hurt her complexion by using too much greasy food.