No one knows how great a trial it was to her when she thought of Sally,
unchecked and unscolded for three hours every morning. But all she said
was:
“‘Sally, go to the Deuce.’ I beg your pardon, my lady, if I was talking
to myself; it’s a habit I have got into of keeping my tongue in practice,
and I am not quite aware when I do it. Three hours every morning! I shall
be only too proud to do what I can for your ladyship; and I hope Mr.
Horner will not be too impatient with me at first. You know, perhaps,
that I was nearly being an authoress once, and that seems as if I was
destined to ‘employ my time in writing.’”
“No, indeed; we must return to the subject of the clerkship afterwards,
if you please. An authoress, Miss Galindo! You surprise me!”
“But, indeed, I was. All was quite ready. Doctor Burney used to teach
me music; not that I ever could learn, but it was a fancy of my poor
father’s. And his daughter wrote a book, and they said she was but a very
young lady, and nothing but a music-master’s daughter; so why should not
I try?”
“Well?”
“Well! I got paper and half-a-hundred good pens, a bottle of ink, all
ready.”
“And then——”
“Oh, it ended in my having nothing to say, when I sat down to write. But
sometimes, when I get hold of a book, I wonder why I let such a poor
reason stop me. It does not others.”
“But I think it was very well it did, Miss Galindo,” said her ladyship.
“I am extremely against women usurping men’s employments, as they are
very apt to do. But perhaps, after all, the notion of writing a book
improved your hand. It is one of the most legible I ever saw.”
“I despise z’s without tails,” said Miss Galindo, with a good deal of
gratified pride at my lady’s praise. Presently, my lady took her to
look at a curious old cabinet, which Lord Ludlow had picked up at the
Hague; and, while they were out of the room on this errand, I suppose the
question of remuneration was settled, for I heard no more of it.
* * * * *
And the most delicate dainty work of all was done by Miss Galindo, as
Lady Ludlow very well knew. Yet, for all their fine sewing, it sometimes
happened that Miss Galindo’s patterns were of an old-fashioned kind; and
the dozen night-caps, maybe, on the materials for which she had expended
_bona-fide_ money, and on the making-up, no little time and eyesight,
would lie for months in a yellow neglected heap; and at such times, it
was said, Miss Galindo was more amusing than usual, more full of dry
drollery and humour; just as at times when an order came in to X (the
initial she had chosen) for a stock of well-paying things, she sat and
stormed at her servant as she stitched away. She herself explained her
practice in this way:
“When everything goes wrong, one would give up breathing if one could
not lighten one’s heart by a joke. But when I’ve to sit from morning to
night, I must have something to stir my blood, or I should go off into an
apoplexy; so I set to, and quarrel with Sally.”
Such were Miss Galindo’s means and manner of living in her own house. Out
of doors, and in the village, she was not popular, although she would
have been sorely missed had she left the place. But she asked too many
home questions (not to say impertinent) respecting the domestic economies
(for even the very poor liked to spend their bit of money in their own
way), and would open cupboards to find out hidden extravagances, and
question closely respecting the weekly amount of butter; till one day she
met with what would have been a rebuff to any other person, but was by
her rather enjoyed than otherwise.
She was going into a cottage, and in the doorway met the good woman
chasing out a duck, and apparently unconscious of her visitor.
“Get out, Miss Galindo!” she cried, addressing the duck. “Get out! Oh, I
ask your pardon,” she continued as if seeing the lady for the first time.
“It’s only that weary duck will come in. Get out, Miss Gal——” (to the
duck).
“And so you call it after me, do you?” inquired her visitor.
“Oh, yes, ma’am; my master would have it so; for, he said, sure enough
the unlucky bird was always poking herself where she was not wanted.”
“Ha, ha! very good! And so your master is a wit, is he? Well! tell him to
come up and speak to me to-night about my parlour chimney; for there is
no one like him for chimney doctoring.”
And the master went up, and was so won over by Miss Galindo’s merry ways,
and sharp insight into the mysteries of his various kinds of business
(he was a mason, chimney-sweeper and rat-catcher), that he came home and
abused his wife the next time she called the duck the name by which he
himself had christened her.