“There’s been waur folk than Jenny serving in this house, I reckon. I’ve kent women mysel that did less wark with mair slaistry—and aye as muckle concerned for the credit of the house; but I’m no gaun to sound my ain praise; and I would like to ken whether I’m to be held to the six months’ warning, or if I may put up my kist and make my flitting like other folk at the term?”
“You can make your flitting, Jenny, when we make ours; that is soon enough, surely,” said Mrs Laurie with a half smile. Jenny had not roused her mistress yet to anything but defence, so with a louder fuff than ever she rushed to the attack again.
“For a smooth-spoken lass—believe hersel, she wouldna raise the stour without pardon craved—I would recommend Nelly Panton. There’s no muckle love lost atween her and me—but she’ll say ony ill of Jenny—and aye have a curtsy ready for a lady’s ca’, and her een on the grund, and neither mind nor heart o’ her ain, if the mistress says no. Na, I wouldna say but Nelly Panton’s the very ane to answer, for she’ll never take twa thoughts about casting off father and mother, kin and country, whenever ye like to bid—though ye’ll mind, mem, it’s for sake of the wage, and no for sake of you.”
“Dear me, Jenny,” said Mrs Laurie impatiently, “when did I ask for such a sacrifice? What makes ye such a crabbed body, woman? Did I ever bid a servant of mine give up father or mother for me? You have been about Burnside ten years now, Jenny—when did you know me do anything like that?”
“A lady mayna mean ony ill—I’m no saying’t,” said Jenny; “but ane may make a bonnie lock of mischief without kenning. I’ve been ten years about Burnside—ay, and mair siller!—and to think the mistress should be laying her odds and ends thegither—a woman at her time of life—to flit away to a strange country, and never letting on a word to Jenny, till the puir body’s either forced into a ship upon the sea, or thrown on the cauld world to find her drap parritch at ony doorstep where there’s charity! Eh, sirs, what’s the favour of this world to trust to! But I’m no gaun to break my heart about it, for Jenny has twa guid hands o’ her ain—nae thanks to some folk—to make her bread by yet!”
“Jenny’s an unreasonable body,” said her mistress, with half-amused annoyance: “and if you were not spoken to before, it was just because my mind was unsettled, and it’s only since yesterday I have thought of it at all. If I make up my mind to go, it’s for anything but pleasure to myself—so you have no occasion to upbraid me, Jenny, for doing this at my time of life.”
“Me!” exclaimed Jenny, lifting her hands in appeal, “me upbraid the mistress! Eh, sirs, the like of that! But, mem, will you tell me, if it’s no for your ain pleasure, you that’s an independent lady, what for would you leave Burnside?”
Mrs Laurie hesitated; but Mrs Laurie knew very well that nothing could be more unprofitable than any resentment of Jenny’s fuff—and her own transitory displeasure had already died away.
“You may say we’re independent at this present time,” she said with a little sigh; “but did it never occur to you, Jenny—if anything happened to me—my poor lassie!—what’s to become of Menie then?”
“Havers!” cried Jenny loudly. “I mean—I ask your pardon—but what’s gaun to happen to you this twenty years and mair?”