MRS. GOODENOUGH'S ADVICE.
MRS. EYRE, thinking and thinking how to lessen her already moderate
outlay, made up her mind, with much regret, that she must part with
Hetty. Without Mrs. Goodenough she felt she could not manage, but
although Flo would miss her sadly, Hetty must go; for truly there was
so little spent, save on necessaries, that to part with Hetty, keep
Lina at home from school, and do without a new bonnet, was all the poor
little woman could think of.
So when the morning walk and the early dinner were over, Lina and Edgar
out at play, and Flo dozing on the sofa, Mrs. Eyre said,—
"You cannot think, Hetty, how sorry I am. But Mr. Eyre's illness, and
his absence from the shop, makes such a difference to us that I find I
must do without you, for the present; and of course I could not ask you
to stay at home waiting until I could have you again."
"Oh, ma'am! Me to go home? Oh, I thought you'd forgiven me, ma'am, and—"
"It is not that at all. I do not expect a girl of your age to be a
first-rate servant all at once, and you have been very useful and
a great help to me. It is just what I say: I must lessen my weekly
expenses, and this is one of the very few ways in which I can do so.
And I am very sorry to lose you, Hetty."
Hetty got up and crept away to cry in secret, for she did not want to
awake Flo. But, unfortunately, Flo had not been quite asleep, and had
understood what was said only too well. She was in a sad way; in fact,
I do not know which wept most, Flo or Hetty. But I do know that the
saddest person there, on whose shoulders all the trouble would fall,
was Mrs. Eyre, who did not cry at all, but said to her husband,—
"Never mind, John. It is only for a time."
Mrs. Goodenough, arriving next morning, found Hetty washing up the
breakfast things, while her tears dropped into the water, patter
patter, as if she was trying whether salt water would impart an added
polish to china.
"In mischief again, Hetty?" said the old woman, laughing. "Such a girl
to cry I never did see."
"Mrs. Goodenough, you'd cry if you were me. I'm—go-o-o-o-ing away."
"Well, and what of that? There's plenty of places where an active girl
will get as good, ay! and better, wages than you get here, for less
work. My Lady Drysdale, where your sister is, wants a kitchen maid.
You'd easy get the place. Eight pounds a year, I believe. Me cry if
I was the one to go-o-o-o!" and she mimicked poor Hetty in a very
heartless way; "not me, indeed. I guessed that they'd be for saving and
scraping; for everyone says Cartwrights are very hard—not a penny given
if their folks are ill, and no advances, not if they was starving.
Every one for himself in this world. You ask Mrs. Eyre for a bit of a
character, and go and get this good place, where you'll learn to be
a first-rate cook, and be getting your thirty or forty pounds a year
by-and-by."
"But Miss Flo. I do love Miss Flo."
"Oh, get out o' that with your love! It's yourself you have to think
of. Five pounds a year, and killing yourself carrying that poor
child—and eight for half the work. And now 'twill be, 'Mrs. Goodenough,
will you help me to move the sofa?' or, 'Will you take baby for half an
hour?' as it used to be. I was thinking of leaving before they got you
in, and 'twouldn't take much to make me leave now."
"Mrs. Goodenough, is it now, when they are in trouble? Do you mean to
say you've been coming here all these years, and haven't got to love
Mrs. Eyre and the children?"
"What call have I to love them? I never was one for going about loving
folk. And do you think they spend much time in loving me? Don't you be
a fool, Hetty. Servants has no business with such feelings; you've your
work to do, and you must do it well, because it ain't respectable to
do otherways, and they pays you, and there's an end. What's the love
wanted for?"
Hetty stared—this line of reasoning was new to her.
"Christians ought to love one another," said she, presently.
"Bother!" was the reply. "You can't love every one, and you know you
can't. It's just humbug!"
"Miss Flo loves me. And the mistress said she was sorry to lose me."
"So she well may. You've slaved for her and that child, and now you see
what you get by it. Out you go the moment it's convenient. Why, by that
counting, I love you; for I'm sorry you're to go—you've saved me a lot
of trouble, and I will say you're an obliging girl. Well, the mistress
must manage somehow, for I declare I'm too old to be put upon, and the
children are no business of mine. I must get to work now; I'm sure
I don't know why I am wasting my time trying to put sense into you,
Hetty."
Mrs. Goodenough was not generally inclined to talk much to Hetty, whose
willingness to oblige often annoyed her, by making her unwillingness
more remarkable. And it was quite true that she did not know what
made her preach this nice little sermon on self-love; but I think I
can guess. If we deliberately harbour selfish feelings, and pride
ourselves on them, he who inspires them will use us as his mouthpiece
occasionally—which is not a comfortable thought.
For awhile these remarks made Hetty very unhappy. Was it true that
everybody cared only for number one, and that to love those about you
was folly? But reflection brought happier feelings.
"The Bible," said Hetty to herself; "tells us to love one another, and
it can't mean only one's own folk, because that comes by nature. And
it says to serve faithfully, not for wages only; at least, I think it
does. Matty could tell me—she knows where all the nice verses are; and
she tries to love every one, I know. I think Mrs. Goodenough has no
feelings."
She took up her Bible—a Sunday-school prize, gained long ago, and in
which she read a chapter every day. But now she turned over the leaves
in search of advice, for she had a plan in her head, and did not see
how to carry it out. Of course she did not find any direct advice in
the Bible, but she found many things that washed away the worldly,
selfish notions with which Mrs. Goodenough had tried to fill her mind.
She found a great deal about love, and very little about taking care of
oneself. She found one verse which said that "even Christ came not to
be ministered unto, but to minister"; and another, which seemed to mean
that if we do good only to those who do good to us, it is not worth
much. "So," thought she, "even if Mrs. Goodenough was right, and my
mistress does not care for me, it makes no difference in what I ought
to do. But she is kind, and she does feel kind towards me; of course
she won't love me as I might come to love her, for what am I compared
to her? Well, one thing is clear; if no one ever loves me, it's my duty
to love people. And I must see mother, for she has a right to settle
it."
She put on her hat and ran down to the parlour. "Can you spare me for
an hour, ma'am? I want to speak to mother."
"Yes, of course you do. I can spare you, Hetty. Indeed, we must learn
to do without you—poor Flo and I."
On this Flo began to cry again, and so, be sure, would Hetty—when a cry
was heard outside, "Cherries! ripe cherries! cherry-ripe! cherry-ripe!
Penny a bunch! penny a bunch!"
"Mamma," cried Flora, "do you hear? Ripe cherries, only one penny a
bunch. Oh, do get me some—they are so cool and nice."
It was very seldom that Flo asked for anything eatable, for she was not
a greedy child, and if she had a cake or other little dainty given her,
she always insisted on sharing it with the whole family. But for fruit
the poor child had a perfect craving, and the misfortune was that all
fruit, except strawberries and grapes, disagreed with her dreadfully.
[Illustration]
Hetty ran off to stop the woman with the cherries, but Mrs. Eyre called
to her.
"No, Hetty—thank you. I cannot give Flo any cherries. Don't stay out
very long, please, for I have to take the other children into town to
get new boots; they must have them, I find."
Hetty heard poor little Flo giving way to a most unusual fit of whining.
"Why can you not give me cherries, mamma? Only one pennyworth!"
And Hetty heard no more, for she closed the hall door and ran on down
the terrace.
"Poor Mrs. Eyre!" thought she, "not to be able to spare one penny, when
the dear little soul wants them so badly. Oh I declare I might get some
for her myself; that sixpence of Ned's is in my pocket."
She ran after the woman and bought two bunches, each containing six or
seven cherries. These she popped into her pocket, as she had not time
to run back with them. Then she was soon at her mother's door.
The lines in the garden were full of fluttering, dangling linen, and
Mrs. Hardy and Matty were refreshing themselves with a well-earned cup
of tea.
"Why, here's Hetty; and as solemn as you please," cried Mrs. Hardy.
"Oh, mother, I'm so glad to find you resting, for I want a talk with
you very much. I've been thinking, and thinking, and I know what I'd
like to do, but you'll know whether I ought, and besides, you may not
like me to do it."
"Sit down, child. Matty, give her a cup of tea to help her to speak
plain. You're not in any scrape, Hetty? That's well; and as for what
you've said so far, I don't know what you're at."
Hetty drank her tea, and then proceeded to tell her story, dwelling at
some length on Mrs. Goodenough's remarks.
"And now, mother, if you wish it, I can try for that place at Lady
Drysdale's, but I would much rather be with my mistress. And there
she'll be, with Miss Flo fretting, and the baby teething, and Miss Lina
at home all day and very troublesome, just like our Jane, and no help
from Mrs. Goodenough, who has made up her mind to leave if she is asked
for any. Now, if the mistress would keep me, and not Mrs. Goodenough, I
would be of a deal more use to her. The mistress can't carry Miss Flo a
bit."
"Ay, child—but the cooking?"
"I could do all that Mrs. Goodenough does. The mistress does it
herself. Mrs. Goodenough cleans up, and if there's anything to be put
in the oven for dinner, she does that."
"And doesn't forget it, eh, Hetty?"
Hetty looked rather foolish for a moment. Then she said: "Mother, do
you know, I really think that the more I have to do, the less I forget.
It is not while I am busy that I forget, but when I sit thinking."
"Sit idle, you mean. But I daresay you are right; it's what Matty has
always said. All the same, Mrs. Goodenough's work, with carrying Miss
Flo added to it, is a good deal, Hetty, for a girl of your age to
undertake."
"Well, I'd like it. I like work, and I'm as strong as a pony. And—I
just thought, mother, that it might be right. I do love my mistress and
Miss Flo. But of course it's for you to choose."
"As to going as kitchen maid at Lady Drysdale's, I wouldn't have it
at all, Hetty. It's very different from being in the nursery, like
Annie. There's a swarm of men-servants, and you're young and giddy. And
I don't deny that I'm glad and pleased to hear you say you love your
mistress and the child you've had charge of, and that you're willing
to work hard for them. As far as my leave goes, you may see what Mrs.
Eyre thinks of it, just for a time. But the thing is, what will Mrs.
Goodenough say?"
"She told me herself that if she was asked to move the sofa or hold the
baby, she'd leave."
"For all that, she'd be very angry if you put her out. Nor you wouldn't
like it done to yourself, Hetty."
"No, that's very true. What can I do? I think I might tell Mrs. Eyre
something of what Mrs. Goodenough said to me, and get her to ask Mrs.
Goodenough now if she will be willing to give a little help—for you
know, mother, she really must, if she's to stay. The mistress is real
clever, but she's not very strong."
"You might do that. But you must not be disappointed if she says she
will stay. For it's one thing to talk big to you, and quite another to
throw away a place where she's very comfortable. If she promises, mind
now, you mustn't say another word."
"I will not indeed, mother."
"Do you know what I think?" said Matty, looking up from her knitting.
"I think, if mother went up herself and said that about asking Mrs.
Goodenough, it would come better from her than from Hetty."
"That's true," said Mrs. Hardy; "and I'll step up to-morrow about ten.
I'm very tired now, and a few hours won't make any difference."
"Thank you, mother. I must run home now, for Mrs. Eyre wants to go out.
I shall be on the watch for you to-morrow."
Hetty was soon at home again. She found her mistress and the children
ready to set out, and Mrs. Eyre only lingered to beg Hetty not to
forget to put the mutton into the oven at the right time.