We heard the bumping of her boxes on the stairs. At the gate stood the boy with the truck, ready to wheel them to the coach-office, as he had wheeled those of Miss Copperas. Tod was helping himself to some more pie, when the grenadier threw open the door.
“My boxes are here, gentlemen. Will you like to look at them?”
“Look at them for what?” asked Tod, after staring a minute.
“To see that I’m taking none of your property away inside them.”
At last Tod understood what she meant, and felt inclined to throw the dish at her head. “Shut the door, and don’t be a fool,” said he. “And I hope you’ll find your mother better,” I called out after her.
“And now, Johnny, what are we to do?” cried he, when lunch was over and there was no one to take it away. “This is like a second edition of Robinson Crusoe.”
We left it where it was, and went off to the shops and the Whistling Wind, asking if they could tell us of a servant. But servants seemed not to be forthcoming at a pinch; and we told our troubles to old Druff.
“My missis shall come in and see a bit to things for ye,” said he. “She can light the fire in the morning, anyway, and boil the kettle.”
And with the aid of Mother Druff—an ancient dame who went about in clogs—we got on till after breakfast in the morning, when a damsel came after the place. She wore a pink gauze bonnet, smart and tawdry, and had a pert manner.
“Can you cook?” asked Tod.