"Do you happen to know of a girl about your age who can do kitchen work?"
"I don't know any one here. I'm travelling."
"But perhaps you would do for me yourself"—this half aside—"Can you make a fire, keep pots clean, and scour floors?"
"Yes." She did not express any interest in her assent.
"Where are you going? Would you not like to come with me and enter my service? I happen to be in need of just such a girl as you."
No answer.
"She doesn't understand, mamma," whispered the grey-eyed girl in a short frock, who, having wedged herself beside her mother in the narrow doorway, was the only one who could see or hear the colloquy. "Speak slower to the poor thing."
"Looks very stupid," commented Mrs. Rexford, hastily pulling in her head and speaking within the room. "But still, one must not lose a chance." Then with head again outside, she continued, "Do you understand me, my good girl? What is your name?"
"Eliza White."
"That is a very good name"—encouragingly. "Where do you live?"