BECKY.
Just as Lady Woodhouse is about to take her departure two days later,
the new domestic, Becky Phips, arrives, accompanied by her
"gra'm'ther," who assists in carrying her small box and a mysterious
brown paper bag on which much care is lavished by Becky, and which
afterwards turns out to contain nothing more nor less than that young
person's "best 'at."
Aunt Sophia, who is standing on the steps peering up and down the
road in search of the fly, now due, which is to convey her to the
station, catches sight of the girl as she goes round to the back
entrance, and raising her hands and eyes at the same time turns to
Honor, exclaiming--
"Good gracious, child! Where did you pick up such an
eccentric-looking piece of goods as that? Did anyone ever see such a
remarkable head! My dear Honor, mark my words: that girl will either
turn out extraordinarily clever or surprisingly stupid. She could be
nothing between the two with a head like that, you know. Let me
know, child, which she proves to be. I shall quite look forward to
hearing whether she is an unsurpassable treasure, or whether she
drives you all to despair and madness by her outrageous stupidity.
Ah, here's the fly! That's right. Now, Honor, don't forget. All
right, driver." And away goes Aunt Sophia, nodding her head out of
the window until a bend in the road hides the fly from view, and the
girls go indoors again to interview Becky. Certainly she is a
remarkable-looking young person; and many a grave discussion is held
as to the phrenological meaning of the enormous bumps on either side
of her head. To Becky herself they chiefly mean that not all the
bonnet-pins and hair-pins in the world will keep her cap straight; if
it is not leaning over too much on one side, it is sure to be on the
other. This imparts a rakish sort of air to the girl, which is
trying in the extreme to Mrs. Merivale.
At last Dick settles the matter off-hand one day, by announcing once
for all that they are the bumps of hunger--the girl proving to have
an insatiable appetite, and the consumption of bread, potatoes, and
anything in the nature of pudding being truly astonishing--not to say
alarming--since her arrival at the Rookery. It does not take Honor
long to make up her mind as to what will be the report to her aunt
regarding the girl's possible cleverness or stupidity, for she
presently developes such an apparently inexhaustible fund of the
latter commodity as often to reduce the entire family to the verge of
frenzy. There are only two things which Becky appears capable of
doing with any regularity or determination, and these are "swilling"
the back-yard and letting the kitchen fire go out. Thus little
scenes are constantly taking place as follows: Mrs. Merivale
expresses a wish to have a cup of tea somewhat earlier than usual.
Honor goes into the kitchen. Kettle ostentatiously placed over what
was once a fire, but is now a depressing collection of black cold
cinders.
Honor--"I thought I told you, Becky, _always_ to have the kettle
boiling by three o'clock. Just look at it."
Becky (with cap awry)--"Ain't it boiling, miss? Why, I put it on
nigh two hours ago. I'm _sure_ I did!"
Honor (desperately)--"What is the use, Becky, of putting the kettle
over a fire that has gone out. Oh, dear! oh, dear! I don't believe
I shall ever be able to teach you anything; I really don't!"
Becky (resignedly)--"No, miss."
Then perhaps Doris, in an unusually domestic frame of mind, will come
rushing into the sitting-room one morning, her arms full of the
little light muslin draperies with which, at small cost, she and her
sisters have so smartened up the scantily furnished bedrooms.
"Now, girls," she cries, "anything in this line that you want washed?
Mother has actually trusted me with her lawn collars and cuffs. She
remarked (in a not very complimentary manner, I think), 'that at
least I could hardly do them _worse_ than old Mrs. What's-her-name
does them.' Yes, do you know, I really think I _shall_ develop a
talent for washing and ironing--so long as it is something light and
pretty--laces or muslins, or something. I feel that it is _in_ me
somehow. Now, don't laugh! I'm going to _dare_ Becky to let the
fire out, on pain of death or instant dismissal."
All goes well and merrily for some time. The fire burns brightly,
the kettle sings, the boiler hisses; and Doris, also singing, and
attired in a big coarse white apron, stands over a small tub, her
pretty arms plunged up to the elbows in soap-suds.
In the afternoon, however, loud and wrathful lamentations rend the
air when Doris, having enjoyed a well-merited lounge in the only
comfortable chair in the sitting-room, goes into the kitchen to
commence her ironing, and finds--a plentiful supply of irons indeed,
but carefully arranged before a fire which has been out a good hour
or more! Doris does not take these little _contre-temps_ so quietly
as Honor, so there ensues a stormy torrent of scolding on her side,
and mild protestations and feeble efforts at self-justification on
Becky's, until the latter finally retires in floods of tears into the
scullery, and Doris, being remonstrated with by Honor, rushes up to
their bed-room in a fit of the sulks and locks herself in.
On the first Sunday that comes round, however, the whole family is
electrified by an unexpected talent, not to say genius, for
boot-cleaning, which Becky suddenly proves herself to possess.
It has been noticed that from the neighbourhood of the wood-cellar
where she keeps all the paraphernalia of brushes and blacking, sounds
of one of Moody and Sankey's hymns have been issuing, pitched in an
unusually high key, and when, a little later, Becky places all the
boots in a row at the foot of the stairs, saying with pride, "There,
miss; I think I've made them look proper!" the girls feel that the
joyful sounds are accounted for.
Indeed, as Honor, Molly, Dick, Daisy, and Bobby are all seated
afterwards in the little village church, on a conspicuous bench
without any front, and right under the reading-desk, the eyes of the
eldest girl travel proudly down the row of neat-looking boots and
shoes, till they reach Bobby's little high-lows, when her pride
receives a sudden shock, for right across the left one she notices
for the first time an ugly-looking crack, which will of a surety
develop into a split in a day or two. It is to be feared that poor
Honor's attention wanders from the sermon more than once that
morning, her mind being harassed and distracted with the constantly
recurring thought, that unless Bobby is to go almost barefoot he will
certainly have to be re-shod before that week is out.