“I am very partial to children, sir, and children are very fond of me; my uncle had seven little ones, and only me to look after them until he married again.”
“Humph!—Well, go into my kitchen, my girl"—and here the kind-hearted man opened his door and introduced her to his cook. “Sally, this is the girl that rode the pony for the doctor, see and take care of her. Where is your young mistress?” But suddenly turning round as if a thought struck him he said, “Margaret! Margaret! my girl, stop one moment, I must know if you have quite recovered from that complaint you had before you left the Priory Farm?”
“Dear me, sir, I never was ill there.”
“Oh! yes, you were, Margaret; if you remember, I had to feel your pulse and prescribe for you; your heart was very bad?”
“Oh! no, sir, I hope not.”
“Let me ask you one question, Margaret—Have you done with the smuggler? Because, though I should be glad to serve you, I should be sorry to run the risk of introducing bad acquaintances into any respectable family where I might recommend you.”
This was another terrible blow for poor Margaret, and how to answer it she knew not; she remained silent and abashed, and the worthy surgeon was touched more by her silence than if she had spoken ever so much; it told him at once the state of the case.
“Well, well, my girl, I see how it is; but you must not encourage him to visit you when you are at service. Go! go! I will talk to you another time.”
And Margaret was again an inmate in that kind man’s house, who always was a steady and sincere friend to her throughout her eventful career. He had at that very time made up his mind to write a note of recommendation to a lady who lived at the Cliff, upon the banks of the Orwell; but he delayed it for a day or two, on purpose to hear what report his own domestic gave of her. And here Margaret remained in the humblest and purest enjoyment of peace and quietness that she had felt for many years.
It was a lovely evening in the latter part of the month of May, when the mackerel-boats were coming up the Orwell, being unable to reach the mouth of the Nore, that old Colson (better known to the reader as Robinson Crusoe) rowed his little boat up to the landing-place, close to the Cliff Brewery, and startled some young children who were watching the tiny eels playing about those large dark stones which formed the head of the landing-place. Here a stream of fresh water, gushing from beneath, formed the outlet of the canal stream which turned the great wheel in the brewery of John Cobbold, Esq.