Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration]
HEEDLESS HETTY
BY
ANNETTE LYSTER
AUTHOR OF
"KARL KRAPP'S LITTLE MAIDENS," "WHAT SHE COULD,"
"RALPH TRULOCK'S CHRISTMAS ROSES," "THE RUTHERFORD FROWN," ETC.
London
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
AND 164, PICCADILLY
BUTLER & TANNER,
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS,
FROME, AND LONDON.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. MRS. EYRE WANTS A GIRL
II. LITTLE FLO
III. FLO'S KITTEN
IV. "WHAT'S IN A NAME?"
V. UPS AND DOWNS
VI. MRS. GOODENOUGH'S ADVICE
VII. CHERRIES
VIII. AT THE SEA-SIDE
IX. THE BIG BLACK DOG
X. FORGIVEN
HEEDLESS HETTY.
CHAPTER I.
MRS. EYRE WANTS A GIRL.
"GOOD-EVENING, Mrs. Hardy," said a pleasant voice, as the speaker
tapped with her hand upon the half-open door of Mrs. Hardy's cottage.
Mrs. Hardy was a washerwoman, and her visitor knew that sometimes there
was but scant room in her kitchen for strangers; indeed, she often
wondered how the children managed on a wet day, and how the little
ones escaped scalds and burns. However, this being Friday evening, the
actual work was over, and the big deal table was piled with heaps of
snowy linen, which Mrs. Hardy and her daughter Martha were sorting out
and packing in nice large baskets, ready to be carried home the next
day.
"Oh, come in, Mrs. Eyre; you needn't be afraid of the wash-tubs or the
hot irons to-day. We've finished everything, ma'am."
"And such lots of things," said Mrs. Eyre, as she took the seat offered
her by Martha. "I am sure I don't know how you get through it all, Mrs.
Hardy."
"Well, ma'am, it takes a power of method. When I first took up this
business, often I had all the ironing to do on Saturday, or the most
of it; and then 'twas hurry-scurry in the evening to get the things
home. I used to get so worried that I fairly thought I'd die. And one
Saturday morning, who should come in but your good mother, ma'am,
that's in heaven now; and the pleasant way she had. There was I on that
chair in the corner, crying, and all the children crying round me. So
says she, 'My poor Hannah, are you fretting so badly yet?' I dried my
eyes and felt ashamed—for she thought I was crying for my poor man that
had died about a year before; and I had to confess that I was crying
because I didn't see how to get the ironing done. But indeed I have too
much talk—all this don't matter to you."
"Ah, but it does—anything about my dear mother matters to me. Go on
with your work, Mrs. Hardy, and tell me the rest of your story. I'm
very sure she helped you."
"That she did, ma'am. The place was in a mess, with half-done collars
and cuffs on the chairs, and the rector's shirts piled on the table;
some of the linen in the baskets, and more on the stool over there.
Well, not a word did she say about that, though I knew she saw the
untidy way the place was in well enough. Says she, 'The first thing,
Hannah, is to get the ironing finished, and then you and I will have a
talk. Suppose you send the children out, all but Annie and Matty, who
can bring us the hot irons. I am a good ironer, and I'll help you all I
can,' says she; and tucked up her sleeves and went to work as if she'd
done nothing else all her life. So pleasant with the two girls too,
with a word when they brought the irons, that they worked as willing as
possible. And of course I wasn't idle; so, before I thought it could be
done, the clothes were in the basket. Annie and Matty carried them off;
and your dear mother sat down and talked to me."
"'It's all method, Hannah,' she says. 'People sometimes ask me how
I get through so much work, and am never in a hurry; now it is just
method,' says she. And before she left me she wrote out that paper that
you see on the wall there. See, ma'am. 'Monday, collect the wash, put
the things in soak, and boil such articles as must be boiled. Tuesday—'
You see, ma'am? it's all laid out. 'And make your girls help you when
they come home from school; it will be much better for them than
running about idle; be pleasant with them, and they will like it well.'
Ah, she was a great help to me that day, the dear lady."
"I think she had a willing hearer, Mrs. Hardy."
"Yes, ma'am, because she had a pleasant, kindly, friendly way. It
wasn't, 'My good woman, your house is little better than a pigsty,'
or, 'Hannah Hardy, why don't you manage a little better about your
work?'—not she. Ah, a real lady she was, and a real friend to me."
"But people may often mean very kindly who have not my dear mother's
pleasant ways. That kind of manner is a great gift, but some people
have not got it, and that they cannot help. They must do the best they
can."
"The best they could do, Mrs. Eyre, meaning no offence, would be to
stay at home. Folks are only human after all, if they are washerwomen;
and they have their feelings."
"Miss Posnett was very kind that time I had a bad whitlow," put in
Martha.
"Who's named Miss Posnett?" inquired her mother. "Mind your manners,
Matty, and name no names."
"All this time, Mrs. Hardy, I have not told you my errand here to-day.
You know the doctors say that my little Flora must not be allowed to
walk, or even to stand. She has never been strong since her bad fall.
Neither will they allow her to be drawn about in a little carriage,
because she gets so dreadfully cold. They say she must be carried. The
consequence of this is that I must have a girl to help me, for I never
could carry her—she is light enough, but I am not very strong. Now I
remember what a comfort your Annie was to me during the short time
I had her, and I want to know if you can spare me one of your other
girls. It may be only for a time, for Flora may get well and strong
again, but I would teach her as I taught Annie, and then when she
leaves me she could get a good place, as Annie has done."
"Lady Drysdale says that Annie is a right good servant, and that even
the grand nurse is pleased with her. Well, it would be the making of
Matty, but I can't spare her, and that's the plain truth. Though I hate
refusing you, ma'am."
"But is not Hetty fifteen? Older, I think, than Matty was when Annie
came to me."
"No doubt, ma'am. But Matty was Matty, and Hetty is Hetty. There's a
sight of difference in girls!"
"Mother," said Matty, "I know you could not spare me, and I shouldn't
like to leave you. But if Mrs. Eyre would try Hetty. She is very
strong, and very willing. Fond of children too, and used to them—very
good-tempered Hetty is. Don't give Mrs. Eyre a bad opinion of poor
Hetty, mother, for it's my belief she would do well."
Mrs. Hardy left off working and sat down, in a curiously divided frame
of mind. Hetty had been peculiarly heedless and troublesome that whole
week, and was just now crying in the bedroom behind the kitchen, after
what her mother called "a raking good scolding." It was hard to keep
silence, for she had been very angry, and yet she had a notion that
Hetty might do better away from home, and from all the temptations to
idleness that beset her there. Not that the girl was exactly idle,
for she could work well, and liked to work, but let any one interrupt
her, if it were only a kitten running into the kitchen, or a noise in
the street, and the work was forgotten. Only last night she had been
bringing a hot iron from the fire, when a fiddle struck up a doleful
air outside, and Hetty clapped down the iron on the ironing blanket and
ran out of the house. Mrs. Hardy had been apprised of her carelessness
by the horrible smell of the burning blanket, in which there was, of
course, a big hole. It was the last of many sins, and no one could deny
that the "raking good scolding" was well deserved.
"Matty, are you in your right mind?" asked Mrs. Hardy.
"Yes, mother. If Hetty was in Mrs. Eyre's service, or carrying Miss Flo
while Mrs. Eyre drew the little carriage, she would be safe enough. And
she would do her best, and indeed, ma'am, Hetty is a good girl. Mother
will tell you, she never was known to tell a lie yet."
"It is true enough," Mrs. Hardy admitted.
"There's not a bit of harm in Hetty. I'll even allow that she means
well. But I couldn't find it in my conscience to recommend you to try
her, ma'am. There's Mrs. Simmons' Emma, she's sixteen, and a steady
girl."
"No, no; I will not have her. I heard Emma Simmons using such coarse,
violent language to her brother the other day. I would not like my
children to hear it."
"You will never hear a bad word from Hetty, ma'am," said Matty. "She is
heedless, she does forget things, I know. But she's a good girl, that
knows the Commandments, and wants to keep them; and mother knows that
too. Will you see her, ma'am? I know she'd do well with you. Hetty,
come here."
The door of the inner room opened—Hetty must have been pretty close to
it. Out she came—a tall, well-made girl, much taller than neat little
Matty. Mrs. Eyre knew her face very well, which was lucky, for just
now any one might have objected to her, as likely to frighten the
children. Her eyes were quite lost in her swollen eyelids and cheeks,
her poor lips were swelled, her whole face was crimson, and her apron
was soaking wet, having been freely cried into. Her stuff skirt was
torn in several places, her calico bodice displayed two corking pins
where buttons were wanting. Her thick, short, brown hair hung over her
forehead; altogether, as she sneaked into the room and stood, ashamed
to look up, she presented a most forlorn appearance.
"Hetty, did you hear what we were saying?" asked Matty.
"Yes; I couldn't help hearing."
The girl had a very sweet voice, and spoke nicely, Mrs. Eyre observed.
"You're a nice-looking article to be looking for a situation," remarked
Mrs. Hardy. "Now, how often would you clap the child on the ground and
run off, if you heard the squeak of Blind Davie's fiddle?"
"Mother, sure you know, when the children were little, 'twas always me
that kept them best. I love little children, and I would never hurt
one—and you know that, mother."
"Well, I don't think you would, to say true," answered the mother. "Try
her for a month, Mrs. Eyre, without wages. Washing is a scattery trade,
no doubt—takes a power of method. And Hetty has no method."
"Oh, do, Mrs. Eyre—please do! If—if—I didn't see—or hear—Oh, ma'am, do
try me! I'll do my best to please you."
"Well, Hetty, I will try you. Come to me on Monday."
"To-morrow, ma'am, if you like. I could have her ready."
"Monday will do. Come early, Hetty. I will try you for a month, and
after that, if you stay with me, I will pay you at the rate of five
pounds a year, paid quarterly, and we will count this first month in
your first quarter. You will have plenty to do, but you look strong and
healthy, so you will not find it too much. But you must try to remember
what I tell you to do."
"I will try, indeed, ma'am. I am real tired of always being wrong."
"Then good-bye until Monday. And don't cry any more, Hetty; crying
never did any good yet. If you will remember that you are one of
Christ's servants as well as mine, and that to please Him should be
your first thought, I am sure you will get over your heedless ways.
Good-bye, Mrs. Hardy. I must go now."
But Mrs. Hardy followed her visitor out of the house and shut the door.
"I wouldn't let her go to you, ma'am, only I do think she may do well
with you. She is fond of children, and children take to her at once.
My little Bob, that was a sickly baby, was never so good as when Hetty
had him. And I know things go on here that take her mind off her work.
People coming and going, and the door obliged to be kept open, and all.
She may be more correct-like when there's none of that going on. But
don't you be soft with her. She's a girl that takes a deal of scolding,
and I'm just afraid you are not one to give her enough of it. And if
you praise her, ma'am, her head's turned directly. She's not a bit like
Annie; so don't expect it."
"Ah, well, I will try her for a month, Mrs. Hardy. I can promise no
more than that."
"Nor would I ask more, ma'am. Good-bye, ma'am, and thank you. If you
tame our Hetty,—Heedless Hetty, as our boys call her,—I'll say you
could do anything."
"I shall try to make her tame herself, Mrs. Hardy."
"She'll never do that, ma'am."
"Ah, Mrs. Hardy, you don't remember that she will not have to do it
in her own strength. That would be too much for any of us. But think
of the words, 'If any lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth
liberally, and upbraideth not.' My mother said to me once, 'The
difficulty does not lie so much in your faults as in the fact that you
do not see that they are sins; and even when you do see this, you do
not go the right way to be cured of them; for nothing but the love of
God shed abroad in our hearts by His Holy Spirit can cure the least
fault.' But I must really get home now; so good-bye, Mrs. Hardy."
Mrs. Hardy went indoors again. She found that the two girls had
finished putting the things into the baskets, and she did not observe
that Hetty, in the hurry of her mind, had put three heavy sheets on the
top of Miss Posnett's stiff collars and frilled nightcaps. But when
Miss Posnett sent those articles back on Monday, it was well for Hetty
that she was out of the way.
"Hetty," began Mrs. Hardy, "you are in luck for once, and I hope you're
aware of it. Mrs. Eyre ain't rich, but a lady down to her very shoes,
and she'll be kind to you. If you lose this chance, I think you'd
better emigrate to some savage place where folk won't mind your wild
ways; only mind they're no cannibals, for you're plump and young, and
if they found you of no use, they might think it better to eat you."
"Mother! how can you?" cried Hetty.
"Take off that dress now, and give it a good patching. Matty, look up
all her things; we must mend and wash them. And then I'll go and buy
her some neat aprons. Oh, dear, look at her Sunday frock! Did you sleep
in it, Hetty? Here, Matty—your fingers are cleverer than mine; mend
this, like a good girl. Even if we get her back in a week, let us send
her out decent."