Ever since Amelia came to us her object appears to have been the sounding the depths of my ignorance, with the idea of putting us in our proper positions. I don't mean that she wishes to be the mistress exactly, and sit with Dimbie in the drawing-room while I peel potatoes in the back kitchen; but she wishes me to understand that she knows I am a silly sort of creature, and she will do the best she can for me, seeing that she is one of the "old-fashioned sort" who still take a kindly and benevolent interest in their master and mistress.
Not that Amelia is old-fashioned really, with flat caps and elastic-sided cloth boots, such as mother's servants wear. She is an entirely modern product. She knows how to do the cake-walk, and wears two-strapped patent slippers, with high Louis heels which turn over at a most dangerous angle, looking more like two leaning towers of Pisa than decorous, respectable "general's" heels. But she is old-fashioned in the sense that she appears to have our interests most tremendously at heart, is quite painfully economical, is forever scrubbing and cleaning, and calls me "mum" instead of "madam" when she isn't calling me "miss."
Just now she invited me to go and see how far she had got the brush up the flue. She was hurt because Dimbie had said he should have to get up early and see what he could do about the hot water. In fact, she had laughed derisively behind the roller-towel. She thinks no more of Dimbie's capabilities than of mine.
I went, and was much impressed by the length of the flue-brush and its pliability. Amelia had raked out the fire, and, with sleeves rolled back, showed me what she could do with flues. It was like being at a conjuring entertainment. The brush flashed about like lightning, got into impossible places, curved, wriggled, and once I thought that Amelia herself was about to disappear up the chimney. I clutched at her legs and brought her down. Her face was glowing and black in places.
"Now, mum," she panted, "if there's no hot water, is it my fault? If Amelia Cockles can't get no hot water, no livin' mortal can, includin' the master hisself. I'll show him to-night."
"Oh, don't, Amelia! Don't do it again! It's so difficult and dangerous, you might get stuck," I pleaded. "We'll have a new boiler."
"It's not the boiler," she pronounced; "it's where it's been put."
"Well, we'll have it moved. Where would you like it?"
She was guarded in her answer.
"I'm not sure as you can move boilers about like furniture. We must think it over."