Minnie fitted into that life as if she had been made for it. Serious,
anxious, good-tempered, she followed her grandmother about, helping her,
deeply interested in the daily work. She was not very clever or skilful,
but she supplied the lack of these by a great willingness. She did not
suffer from any passion for perfection; she was satisfied if she could
“get through” what was essential.
She assumed responsibilities. She took it upon herself to get up first
and get the breakfast. Frances used to watch her, springing out of bed
in the half-darkness directly the alarm clock rang, and beginning to
dress without wasting time even to stretch.
And not only was she invaluable within doors, but almost at once she had
taken charge of the decrepit old mare lingering on in a filthy old barn.
This had formerly been Thomas Washington’s duty, but Minnie assured her
grandmother that this arrangement was extravagant and that Thomas was
rough. In a very few days she had learned from him all the essentials in
the care of Bess, and herself assumed the work.
She had a passionate, an exaggerated love for animals; compassion rather
than love; for every dumb creature she saw she felt a distressing pity
and, of course, being Minnie, an anxious sense of responsibility. She
was forever worried by the thought that some beast was being ill-used.
She even went so far as to follow carters to make sure they weren’t
cruel. She had repeated disagreements with her grandmother because the
old lady wouldn’t allow Michael to usurp her chair.
Michael and the other cats had at once become her special property. She
put them into the cellar at night and first thing in the morning would
unbolt the door and let them out, welcoming them with a smile maternal
and solicitous. They were always waiting near the door, and would come
jostling in at once, uttering impatient little cries, and looking up at
her with luminous and plaintive eyes. She would bend over the worn and
unlovely Spotty, mother of uncounted drowned kittens, with kindly
sympathy; her young son Teddy, who was still silly and charming, she
treated with indulgence; but for old Michael she had a manner at once
motherly and propitiating. Michael, truculent old blackguard, his thick,
short coat striped like a tiger, arrogant and complacent as an old
pirate chief! _He_ never showed any affection, but a sort of shameless
allegiance, knowing that from her came all his benefits. She was really
very happy in this life....