Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "WHAT IS THE MATTER, LITTLE GIRL?"]
A LITTLE MAID
BY
AMY LE FEUVRE
AUTHOR OF "PROBABLE SONS," "TEDDY'S BUTTON," "ODD,"
"JILL'S RED BAG," ETC, ETC.
WITH THREE ILLUSTRATIONS BY SYDNEY COWELL
_SECOND IMPRESSION_
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE STREET; & 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
1905
STORIES
BY
AMY LE FEUVRE.
[Illustration]
Odd Made Even. 3s. 6d.
Heather's Mistress. 3s. 6d.
On the Edge of a Moor. 3s. 6d.
The Carved Cupboard. 2s. 6d.
Jill's Red Bag. 2s.
A Little Maid. 2s.
A Puzzling Pair. 2s.
Dwell Deep; or, Hilda Thorn's Life Story. 2s.
Legend Led. 2s.
Odd. 2s.
Bulbs and Blossoms. 1s. 6d.
His Little Daughter. 1s. 6d.
A Thoughtless Seven. 1s.
Probable Sons. 1s.
Teddy's Button. 1s.
Bunny's Friends. 1s.
Eric's Good News. 1s.
[Illustration]
_London:_
_The Religious Tract Society_
_4, Bouverie Street._
Contents
[Illustration]
CHAPTER
I. "THE FIRST STEP TO SERVICE"
II. "IN SERVICE TO MY AUNT"
III. "I'M READY FOR MY PLACE"
IV. COUNTRY MUD
V. "TOO FAITHFUL"
VI. A "HEATHEN STOCKING"
VII. "A FELLOW-GIRL"
VIII. "A REAL LITTLE HOME MISSIONARY"
IX. "I'M A-GOIN' BACK TO LONDON"
X. "A SICK CAPTAIN!"
XI. "A LITTLE TRUMP!"
XII. VISITORS
XIII. THE COLLECTION
List of Illustrations
[Illustration]
"WHAT IS THE MATTER, LITTLE GIRL? CAN'T YOU GET A PLACE?" _Frontispiece_
"THEN I COME HOME WITH A BROKEN 'EART"
"DON'T YOU LAY YOUR FINGER ON IT, FOR I'VE GOT MY EYE ON YER!"
A Little Maid
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I
"THE FIRST STEP TO SERVICE"
SHE sat on a doorstep in Bone Alley. Her surroundings were such as you
may see any day in that part of London, which is known to the upper
class as the Slums. And she herself was not a striking feature in her
landscape. Nine out of ten people would have passed her by, without a
look or thought.
She was dressed in a brown skirt, a black bodice, and a faded blue felt
hat, with a wisp of black ribbon and a ragged crow's feather stuck
jauntily in on one side. Her arms were hugging her knees, and two very
dilapidated old boots rested themselves contentedly on a medley of
orange-peel, broken bottles, and old tins. Her eyes were big and blue,
her hair a nondescript brown, hanging in straight wisps round her small
pinched face. But she was a dreamer.
A close observer would have seen that her soul was far away from her
surroundings. A rapt smile crossed her face, and a light came into her
eyes that nothing in Bone Alley would draw there. Then she gave her
thin shoulders a little shake, and frowned.
"Peggy, you're gettin' up too high; come down!"
She was accustomed to talk to herself. There was no one near her.
Further down, a barrel-organ was surrounded by a circle of dancing
children.
"You'd best be movin', Peg," she continued. "Aunt will be callin' yer."
Slowly she got up, and then, with a little stretch of her long thin
limbs, she shuffled up a steep staircase through an open doorway. Up,
up, up! Three long flights of stairs. Different smells issued from the
many doors she passed, and one could pretty well guess from them the
employments of the occupants within—soapsuds, cabbage, fried bacon, and
fried fish. Nearly every one at this time seemed to be cooking, for it
was one o'clock, and dinners were about to be served.
At the very top floor Peggy paused. Not for breath, for her lungs and
heart were sound; but her words explained it.
"Now, Peg, don't you say nothink at all when she rows yer—nothink, or
you won't get out agen!"
She opened the door abruptly. It was a poor-looking room, but clean and
tidy. A bed near the window contained a cripple woman, who was knitting
away busily. She looked round at the child with a heavy frown, and her
voice had a peevish nagging note in it.
"How much longer am I to wait for yer, I'd like ter know? Look at the
fire, you lazy baggage! You be no more use to me since yer left school
than you were before. What 'ave you been a-doin'? Me, slavin' and
knittin' myself silly to give you food and clothes, and you out in the
streets from morn to night! Dancin' round that organ, I'll be bound!
Oh, if I were given the use of my legs agen, wouldn't I make you dance
to a different toon!"
Peggy said nothing, but with a clatter and bustle she made up the fire,
and then prepared the midday meal. Potatoes and half a herring, with a
cup of tea, formed their dinner. Mrs. Perkins kept up a running stream
of complaints and abuse, which Peggy hardly seemed to hear. She washed
up, tidied the hearth, fetched her aunt some more wool from a drawer,
and then slipped away towards the door.
"Where are you goin'?" demanded Mrs. Perkins. "I'll be wantin' you to
take a parcel for me to the shop, an' Mrs. Jones have bin in to arsk
yer to mind her baby. She have to go to 'orspital for her eye-dressin'!"
"I'll mind her baby now," said Peggy cheerfully, "and then I'll be
ready for yer parcel!"
She ran down the stairs unheeding the remainder of her aunt's talk. On
the next floor she met a stout woman, just opening her mouth for a call.
"I'm a-comin', Mrs. Jones. Was you wantin' me? Where's h'Arthur? Shall
I take him out?"
Arthur was a big heavy boy of two years, but Peggy lifted him in her
arms and staggered down the stairs bravely. Once in the street, she put
him down on his feet.
"We'll come and see Mrs. Creek," she said. "I'm a-longin' to have a
talk with 'er!"
Arthur gurgled assent, and stumbled along contentedly by her side.
She marched down the alley, then turned a corner into a more
respectable street, presently paused before a tiny sweet-shop.
It was a clean little place; and behind the small-counter sat
a cheery-faced little woman with spectacles on her nose and a
work-basket by her side. How Mrs. Creek could live and thrive in such
a neighbourhood was a mystery to many. The children loved her almost
as well as her sweets. She had no belongings, but eked out her scanty
living by mending and making for some of her bettermost neighbours. A
card in her window asserted—
"PLAIN SEWING TAKEN IN."
But Mrs. Creek's needle was required for many varieties, from piecing
a small corduroy breeches to trimming a bonnet; and darning stockings
was her relaxation. She and Peggy were the greatest friends. She knew,
though the cripple aunt was a respectable hard-working woman, she was a
harsh task-mistress. Peggy waited on her aunt hand and foot, and never
got a bright, pleasant word from her.
"Please 'm," began Peggy, dragging her small charge into the shop,
"I'll have a halfpenny barley-stick for h'Arthur. And, please 'm, will
you tell me once agen how you first went to service."
"Bless your little heart! Sit ye down, child, on that there empty box.
And there's the barley-stick. Why, what a fine boy he is growing!"
Then she shook her head reprovingly at Peggy.
"You've no right to be longin' after forbidden things, dearie. Your
aunt can't spare you, an' she have told you so."
"Yes," said Peggy, with eager eyes, and a little flush on her sallow
cheeks; "but I dreams and dreams of it. An' it may come one day.
Teacher told me on Sunday we can arsk God anythink, and—and I'm
a—arskin' of Him to manage it for me. Tell me agen of your clo's, Mrs.
Creek. They do sound lovely."
Mrs. Creek gave a little low laugh.
"I minds that I thought 'em so. 'Twas nursery maid at the Rectory I
went to, and I couldn't sleep at night for thinkin' on it. I had two
lilac print gowns, with sprigs of daisies over 'em, and four white
aprons, and two pair of home-knitted stockings, and one pair o' new
boots, and a pair of low-heeled slippers, and three white caps, and a
black straw hat with ribbon, and a white straw bonnet for Sundays, and
a grey linsey gown, and a neat black coat—"
She paused for breath, and Peggy gave a rapt sigh.
"Oh," she said, clasping her hands, "how rich yer mother must 'ave
been! How lovely to feel they was all yours! Go on, 'm, please. Tell
'ow you felt when you treaded on carpets!"
"They was lovely and soft," the old woman said meditatively; "an' the
nursery with its big fire and bright brass fender, an' the pictures and
toys, an' the red-cushioned rockin'-cheer, I seem as I can see it all
now. The nurse were tall and stern, but the little ladies, there were
three on 'em, they were always ready for a game with me. And I used to
swing 'em on the lawn, and help 'em to clean out their rabbit hutches.
Dear life! What a happy little maid I was!"
Peggy gulped down a sob.
Mrs. Creek looked at her and saw that tears were running down her
cheeks.
"It seems like 'eaven," she murmured, wiping her tears away with the
back of her hand and hoisting Arthur on her lap, as the little urchin
was getting restless. "How little could you go out to service with, 'm,
please? If you was ever so careful, wouldn't one print dress be enough?
You could wash it out careful when you went to bed—leastways, any dirty
patches you could."
Mrs. Creek shook her head.
"If you goes to ladies' service you must 'ave an outfit," she remarked
importantly.
"Like as if you were goin' to marry!" said Peggy, with another big sigh.
"But," said Mrs. Creek, "'tisn't many got such a chance as I had. I was
country-born, ye see, an' my father were under-gardener at the Hall."
Peggy's face became gloomy.
"Tis no use hopin', is it? I 'ave saved up some pence, 'm. Just what
I've earned proper, but see—'ow many before I could get a gown? Why,
hundreds, wouldn't it be?"
She produced out of the bosom of her shabby bodice a dirty-looking
piece of rag; unknotting it carefully, she counted out sevenpence
halfpenny.
Mrs. Creek nodded and smiled.
"That's a beginnin', dearie. Maybe by the time yer aunt will be wantin'
yer no longer, you'll have a goodish sum."
Peggy brightened up.
"And 'ow did you stick your caps on, please 'm? Did you have longer
hair than mine?"
"Well, yes, I think I had a fine lot in those days, and I plaited it
neatly and had a nice flat cap, not one o' these cockatoo sort o'
arrangements that girls wear nowadays."
"And tell me now about the rooms, please 'm!"
Mrs. Creek began her descriptions, that had already been given to Peggy
many and many a time before; but the child listened with open mouth and
eyes, until small customers began to crowd in. It was Saturday, and
fathers had come home from their work with pence to spare. Mrs. Creek
had to put aside her reminiscences for the time, and, after waiting a
little longer, Peggy reluctantly departed with her charge.
A sharp-faced girl soon joined her outside.
"'Ulloo, Peg! H'aint seen you for years."
"Where have you bin?" demanded Peggy.
"I've j'ined the boot factory, and, I say! H'our Emma has gone to be a
slavey!"
"Has she? Where? I wish I could!"
"You be a pair o' sillies, the two on yer! Catch me bein' a slavey! No,
not I!"
"Where has Emma gone?"
"To the pork-butcher's. An' her missis hit 'er with a bootbrush las'
Saturday. I'd like to have had that done to me!"
"When I goes to service," Peggy said loftily; "I shall go out to real
ladies, who don't keep no shops."
"I'd start with Buckingham Palace," said the factory girl witheringly;
"but p'raps that wouldn't be 'igh enough for yer!"
Peggy promptly parted company with her. She turned into a broad street
with her little charge, and sauntered past lines of shops, occasionally
pointing out some desirable objects to him, but for the most part
pursuing her thoughts in silence. At last a smart draper's brought her
to a standstill. Peggy often amused herself by pretending she had come
out with a full purse to buy an outfit for service. Now she could not
resist playing at the same old game.
"Now, Peggy, take your choice. There are prints there, pink and blue,
but no dark lilac like Mrs. Creek had. But that's a pretty stripe over
in the corner. You'd look fine in that. And oh my! What cheap caps,
with real broidery round 'em, and only twopence three farthings each!"
She paused, and looked at the caps longingly.
"If I could try 'em on, just to see how I looked, and if I could pin it
on proper! Why shouldn't I buy one? There now! Come on, h'Arthur, and
I'll do it, this very minit!"
Into the shop she went with the air of a duchess. If there was anything
that Peggy loved, it was shopping. "Tis the only time folks is civil,"
she would say. "They don't bawl at me, nor yet scold then, and it makes
me feel as if I'm a bigger person than them!"
"I wish to see some of them there caps, please," she said, taking a
seat at the counter, with her chin well tilted up. "Caps for service I
want."
"Certainly," said a young woman politely, "here are a cheap lot just
come in."
"I hope they washes," Peggy said, up one on the tip of her finger.
"Sweepin' rooms do make one's caps so dirty," she added, with a knowing
shake of her head.
"Oh, they wash right enough," was the reply; "see here, catch hold of
this string, undo it, and they come out flat! There you are!"
Peggy gazed at the cap, trying hard to conceal her surprise.
"'Tis like a Jack-in-the-box!" she said to herself; then aloud—
"I'll take one, please, and try how I like it. I'm rather partic'lar as
to caps."
The young woman tried to conceal a smile, but she wrapped the purchase
up into a small parcel, and Peggy departed in great spirits.
"'Tis the first step to service," she said; "but I don't know where
I can try it on. Aunt has the only looking-glass. And I don't like
tellin' to Mrs. Creek; she'd think it silly!"
She went home with Arthur, then climbed the steep stairs again. She
crammed the cap into the pocket of her dress, then went in and was met
with her aunt's usual greeting—
"Wherever have you been, you good-for-nothin' girl? And my parcel ready
and waitin' this last hour, and the fire nearly out, and the kettle not
near boiling!"
"I've been out with h'Arthur. I'll make up the fire in a second!"
She was not much longer, and then, a few minutes later, sallied out to
take her aunt's knitting to one of the City shops. Mrs. Perkins warned
her not to be out long, and Peggy sped along the busy streets, racking
her brains as to how and where she could try on her untidy little head
the stiff snow-white cap that she had bought.
The parcel was delivered, and she received two shillings in payment,
which she carefully tied in a corner of a red handkerchief round her
throat. Then she retraced her steps homewards.
On the way her eyes lighted on a heavily laden dust-cart in front of
her. Something glittered among some rotten cabbages. Peggy's eyes were
sharp. She saw that it was a piece of broken looking-glass.
"The very thing for you, Peggy," said she. "Now if you gets that,
you'll be in luck indeed!"
She approached the dustman with all the assurance of a London child.
"Hi, mister, jest shy me that piece of glass! I wants it badly."
The man looked at her and it. Then he laughed. "It'll show you no
beauty," he said, with a chuckle.
"No," said Peggy seriously, "but it'll keep my hats and bonnets
straight on my 'ead."
He came to a standstill. Then with his shovel, he drew out the piece of
glass and presented it to her.
Peggy was profuse in her thanks. She hid it under her jacket, and got
home in such haste that even her aunt had little fault to find with her.
It was Sunday. She was up early, for she had a lot to do before she was
at liberty to go out, and Peggy attended a Sunday School close by, and
always went to church on Sunday morning. After that, she stayed in with
her aunt for the rest of the day.
Sunday afternoon was the time for Mrs. Perkins' visitors to come and
see her. Sometimes it was a neighbour who dropped in for a chat;
sometimes a married niece; but there was always a cup of tea going if
nothing more, and Peggy waited on everybody and listened to the talk
with interest, though she was never supposed to speak.
She went off to Sunday School this morning in a happy frame of mind.
Possibilities of a good place always seemed to centre in Miss Gregory,
her teacher; and Peggy had made up many wonderful stories about this
young lady. How one Sunday morning she would come to school and say,—
"Peggy, I have for a long time thought you would make me a good little
servant. Now I am sure of it. I will come round and talk to your aunt,
and I will buy you some clothes and next week you shall come to me."
Sometimes Peggy's fancies took a still higher flight. Miss Gregory
would say,—
"Peggy, I am buying a house in the country. It is a Rectory, and I have
bought the church with it. It has a beautiful garden, and flowers and
fruit; you must come with me and be my servant."
I am afraid Peggy's thoughts were often far away from her lessons. She
secretly adored her teacher; but if I were to tell the real truth, Miss
Gregory looked upon her as a quiet dull little scholar, who was less
attentive than many others, and who seemed the most uninterested of
them all.
But to-day the lesson attracted Peggy from the very first. It was about
the little captive maid who told Naaman's wife of the great prophet who
could cure her master. She listened with big eyes and open mouth to the
story.
Miss Gregory wound up with—
"And so you see, children, what a lot of good a little servant-maid can
do. She had been taken away from her home and friends, and might have
been fretful and sulky, and unwilling to help her master. Instead of
that, she longed to tell him how he could be cured."
"Should think so," gasped Peggy; "she must have been awful glad to
leave 'ome, and go to service!"
There was something in her intense tone that made Miss Gregory look at
her. But she felt she needed rebuke.
"No little girl ought to like leaving her parents and going away from
them. Good little girls would not like it."
Peggy hung her head abashed. Her next neighbour nudged her sharply with
her elbow.
"One for you, Peg!" she whispered.
Peggy gave her a vicious kick, which brought upon her a severer rebuke
still from Miss Gregory, and when the class was over and the children
dispersing, Peggy was kept behind.
"Don't you ever wish to love Jesus, Peggy, and please Him?" her teacher
asked rather sadly.
Peggy looked upon the ground and said nothing.
Miss Gregory went on, "I have often wished you took a greater interest
in the Bible, Peggy. You always seem to be thinking of other things.
Don't you like hearing Bible stories?"
"About servant-maids I does," said Peggy, looking up with a bright
light in her eyes.
"You like that, do you? Why? You are not in service yet, are you?"
"No, teacher. I live with aunt, and does for her."
"Then you ought to be a happy little girl to have a comfortable home,
and not have to go out and earn your own living. Maids-of-all work have
a miserable time; you need not wish to be one of them."
"But I wants to get into a good place with real nice ladies!" said
Peggy earnestly.
Miss Gregory shook her head.
"You would have a lot to learn before you could do that."
"But the girl in the Bible went right into a lovely place. You said her
mistress was great and rich. I'd like to wait on a lady like that!"
Miss Gregory smiled, as she noted Peggy's downtrodden aspect.
"Well," she said, "perhaps one day you'll go into service, and if it
is a shop, you can serve God as well there as in a palace. Don't wait
for great things, but be faithful in small. Now follow the others into
church. I am coming."
Peggy's hopes were again dashed to the ground.
"'Tis no good, Peggy," she murmured to herself. "Teacher won't never
help yer. She thinks you too bad."
She went to church, and when she bent her head in prayer before the
service began, this was her petition—
"Oh God! You'll understand, if she don't. And please find me a place
as good as that there leper capting's, and send me clothes, and let aunt
let me go. For Jesus Christ's sake, Amen."
Then she lifted her head with bright hope shining in her eyes.
"God 'll do it better than teacher. He's sure to have heard me to-day,
'cause it's in church."
She went home comforted, and through the whole of that day, her busy
brain was thinking over the story of the little captive maid.
"I'd like to do somethin' grand like that. In the first place I gets,
I'll try. I'll go to a place where there's a ill gent, and I'll tell
him—I'll tell him of them there pills that cured aunt's cousin, and
if he'll try 'em and get well, 'twould be grand for me. O' course,
'twouldn't be like tellin' him of a prophet, but teacher says there's
no prophets now. But it's easy to do grand things in service. If I
never gets a place, it's no good thinkin' of 'em."
And so with alternate hopes and fears, Sunday wore away. Not once did
she got chance of looking at her precious cap, but the knowledge of her
possession was joy to her.