So, with great enthusiasm, the girls set about their morning tasks before they started out—each making her own bed and tidying her room.
Old Martha shook her head and smiled as she crossed the landing, duster in hand.
"Too good to last," she thought to herself.
True, the enthusiasm did not last longer than a week, but the girls stuck to their plan nevertheless, and whether they felt enthusiastic or not they made their beds and tidied their rooms each day without fail; it became, after a time, a matter of habit.
As Martha crossed the landing and was passing Pamela's bedroom door the door sprang open and Pamela ran out, almost colliding with Martha, whom she grasped by the arm.
"Oh, Martha, I'm so sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I?" she cried. "But you're the very person I wanted. Do come and look out of my window for a second, and tell me who this is!"
She hurried old Martha across to the window, and pointed out to her a woman dressed in grey, who was walking briskly away along the green.
"I can't see very well without my glasses," said Martha, peering intently through the window, while Pamela added a few words of description of the woman in grey to help Martha to recognize her. "Oh—that young person," Martha exclaimed suddenly; "well, she isn't exactly what you might call young—but still— That's Elizabeth Bagg, Miss Pamela. Old Tom Bagg's sister."
"Tom Bagg?" queried Pamela, who had not heard the name yet.
"The old cabman what brought your luggage up here the other night, Miss Pamela."