CHAPTER III

"I'M READY FOR MY PLACE"

THE next few days were dark and bewildering ones to Peggy. Mrs. Jones proved a friend in need. She took her to her room at once and mothered her as she had never been mothered before. Peggy was grateful, but she was not comforted till she paid a visit to Mrs. Creak.

"'Tis so awful me havin' wished 'er dead many a time, Mrs. Creak! I thinks of it at nights. And I was so cross and sulky and imperent, and now she be gone. And oh! Mrs. Creak, where is she?"

Mrs. Creak was silent. Then she said softly—

"You gave her a message, dearie. Her last thoughts were about God and His love. She may have put up a prayer for mercy. She were very near it from the hymn you tells me she quoted—

"'Oh for . . . a heart that's sprinkled with the blood So freely shed for me.'

"It may have set her thinkin' and then prayin', dearie. 'Tis very remarkable she should have minded it just then. But oh! Peggy, my girl, never you leave it to make your peace with God till He calls you! He do call so terrible sudden sometimes."

Peggy nodded soberly.

"I ain't goin' to say another cross word to no one all the days o' my life 'm, for fear they should die sudden 'fore I could make it up with 'em."

"That's a very grand resolve," said Mrs. Creak, "but it's too big a one to keep, Peggy, if ye don't ask the Lord's help."

"The Lord helpin' me—Amen," finished Peggy fervently. Then, after a big sigh or two, she came to business.

"Please 'm, Mrs. Jones wants me to stay and mind h'Arthur, and she'll give me my vittles and clothes, but I wants to go to service."

"I know you do, dearie, but 'tis difficult for you at present."

"Oh, please 'm, do you think God is answerin' my prayer? I've been arskin' Him fearful hard to let me go to service, but I do hope I haven't been and made aunt die."

She stopped, aghast at the thought. But good little Mrs. Creak reassured her.

"God has our lives in His hand, and no others have, Peggy. He took your aunt away, but I doubt if it will be easy even now for you to get into real good service."

"Why?"

"There be your clothes, child. You have none fit to wear, and it takes a good sum to get things together. And then you have no trainin' at all. If you could go to a trainin' 'ome now."

"That I never will!" said Peggy stoutly. "I won't go to the 'Ouse or any such institootion. I'll manage 'm. I know a good many girls in places, an' they 'll 'elp me."

Peggy did not let the grass grow under her feet. She followed her aunt's funeral in company with three other women who took pity on her. And then, when she had come back and packed up her belongings, she gave the key of her room to the landlord and went to live with Mrs. Jones.

The very next day she was haunting Nelson Street, and eagerly talking to the red-haired girl at No. 6.

"I'm a-goin' into a place as soon as I can find one," she assured her importantly; "but I don't want to live in this street."

"That's a pity," said the red-haired girl good-naturedly, "for No. 14 is a-goin' to be married, and she's leavin', and you might a-tried there."

Peggy's face lit up with a splendid inspiration.

"Is that No. 14 a-cleanin' her doorstep?" she asked breathlessly.

She was assured it was. Off she marched, and opened fire at once.

"I say, I hear tell you be leavin'. How soon?"

The servant-girl looked round. She had a pretty little face, but her dress, cap, and apron were in a pitiably dirty condition.

"Yes, I'm leavin', thank goodness!" she ejaculated. "What business be it of yourn?"

Peggy's eyes were not on her face, but on her dress. She was taking stock mentally, and murmured to herself—

"Be careful, Peg! Two darns in the back, a slit in the elbow, and a washed-out blue!"

Then she spoke.

"How much for your cotton dresses? Will ye sell?"

"Sell 'em!" exclaimed the girl. "Be you clean demented?"

"But you won't be wearin' cotton when you're married," urged Peggy; "and I'm certain sure your gowns would fit me. I'll give yer two bob for this one, and that's a very good offer."

The girl looked at Peggy with some amusement.

"I don't care if I do sell you this one. I'm a-leavin' to-morrow."

"But it must be washed," said Peggy firmly.

"Oh, I ain't a-goin' to have it washed. You'll take it as it is."

"Then sixpence off!" said Peggy.

The bargain was struck. Late the next evening, Peggy arrived at the sweet-shop in an eager, excited state.

"Here I am, please 'm, and two print gowns for three-and-sixpence; one dirty and one clean. And the hems will turn up, and they only want a bit o' mendin'. You see 'm, there's ten shillings of poor aunt's that come to me, besides the five that Mrs. Jones got my best black with, and she giv' me a black hat; so now I've got six shillings and sixpence for boots, and a jacket, and aprons, and another cap; and please 'm, do you think I shall do then?"

Mrs. Creak looked at the enterprising Peggy with amusement and a little respect.

"I see you be quite determined to go to service, Peggy, so I'll do what I can to help you. Give me the dresses, and I'll see to 'em. If you gets clothes, you won't be long in finding a place."

A fortnight later, Peggy had the joy and satisfaction of seeing a very modest outfitin her one wooden box. Mrs. Jones had been good to her, and given her several cast-off garments of her own, which clever old Mrs. Creak had cut up and altered and turned out in quite good style.

"'Tis not only the outside of your back wants covering, my girl; and remember that good stout petticoats and well-mended stockings will keep you warm and well in the coldest weather."

"Yes 'm," said Peggy meekly.

And then she added anxiously, "And, please 'm, I'm tryin' hard to fasten my hair up. I've a-been lookin' at the girls in Nelson Street. They mostly has a curled fringe, but I can't make mine curl nohow. I've tried curl-papers, but I don't seem to manage 'em right, and them curlin'-tongs cost money."

"Now, Peggy, you take my word, and brush your hair smooth. Ladies will like it much better. Plait it neatly behind; them fringes be traps for dirt and dust, and take a lot o' time fussin' over."

"But," said Peggy, "I want to look proper 'm; I don't want to look like a Noah's Ark servant. Mrs. Jones says girls must make the most o' theirselves. And a fringe makes a cap look first class!"

"You try my way first. I know good service, and 'tis the best servant-maids wear the plainest heads."

So reluctantly Peggy gave up all idea of a fringe. She appeared in Nelson Street one morning and spoke to her red-haired friend.

"I'm ready for my place," she said, with much pride.

"No. 9 is wantin' a general," said Eliza.

"Who lives there?"

"A widder and six children."

"Oh my! I couldn't do for 'em. What does a general do, Liza?"

"Most everythink—washin' and cleanin', and cookin', and twenty other things besides."

Peggy gave a little shake of her head.

"I don't think I'll go to No. 9. I should like to live in a bigger street than this. I'm on the look-out for a house with a garding!"

"Why don't yer go to a Registry?" suggested Eliza. "That's where I should go, only uncle were so wild for me to come 'ere."

"What's a Registry?" asked Peggy. "'Tis where they marries folks, ain't it?"

"No, silly! Yer puts your name down, and what yer can do, and then when a lady comes along, they giv' yer name to her, and she sees yer, and if she likes yer she takes yer."

Peggy's eyes shone.

"That's first-rate. I'll go this afternoon, and I'll put on my best black. Where is there one?"

"The girl at No. 14 who's just come, tells me there's one in Friars Street, No. 54."

Peggy repeated this to herself, and walked home radiant. She did not tell Mrs. Croak of her intention, for she had a fear that she might stop her. In this conjecture she was right. Mrs. Creak was old-fashioned, and did not think much of Registries. She had told Peggy she had mentioned her to the Bible-woman and to the district visitor, and they had both promised to look-out for a place for her. But Peggy found waiting was a trial, and so she took her future into her own hands, and when she was arrayed in her black frock and hat, she informed Mrs. Jones that she was going out to look for a place.

"Good luck go with you!" said that good-natured woman. "And mind you say you can mind babies well, Peg. I'll speak for you there, for you've minded h'Arthur h'off and h'on since he cut his first tooth!"

Peggy marched away. She looked at her reflected figure in the shop windows with great satisfaction.

"You look grand, Peggy!" she ejaculated. "Fit to be in a real good place, and you see you get it, that's all!"

She found the Registry. It was a Berlin Wool shop, and a large card printed in the window stated that it was a "Servants' Registry."

She went boldly in, and addressed a stern looking-woman behind the counter.

"Please 'm, I've come to look for a place."

"What kind of place?" demanded the woman. "Have you ever been out before?"

"No," said Peggy importantly. "This is my first place, so I'm very partic'lar about it."

"And what can you do?"

Not a glimmer of a smile crossed the questioner's face.

Peggy drew a long breath. She had rehearsed it too often to be at a loss.

"Please 'm, I can scrub floors, and clean grates, and make beds, and clean winders, and sweep and dust, and mind babies, and cook 'taties and tripe, and mutton chops, and steak, and red herrings, and make tea and gruel, and hot drinks of gin and water, and nurse cripples, and run messages, and wash clothes, and—"

"That will do. Your name?"

"Margaret Perkins, please 'm."

"Your age?"

"Thirteen 'm."

Another grave-faced woman came forward.

"There's a lady waiting for a girl," she said, in a murmur. "She doesn't mind training them, she says. Shall I let her see her?"

Peggy's checks got crimson with excitement. When she was ushered into a little back room, and was confronted by a tall melancholy woman in black, she felt that this was a crisis in her life.

"Is this a respectable girl, Miss Shipley?"

Peggy did not give Miss Shipley time to speak.

"I'm quite respectable," she said. "I'm goin' to service because my aunt has died. Lots o' people know me."

The lady looked at her gloomily.

"You look very small," she said. "Are you strong?"

"I'm quite strong, please 'm, and, please 'm, have you an ill 'usband? That's the place I'm lookin' for. To wait on a lady with an ill 'usband. But I can mind your babies for yer. I'm first-rate with babies, so long as there's only one in arms."

Miss Shipley turned sharply away. The lady frowned ferociously upon Peggy.

"I am a single lady," she said, "and want a clean honest respectable girl, who does her work, and keeps a quiet tongue in her head."

Peggy was not a whit abashed.

"I don't talk if I'm not wanted to," she said; "only, please 'm, what kind of 'ouse do yer live in? Has it a garding? And is there carpets on the front stairs? I'm lookin' for a real nice place."

"Miss Shipley!" called the lady sharply. "This girl will be no use to me; she is either most impertinent or half-witted."

Peggy was bustled out, wholly unconscious that she was in fault. Miss Shipley enlightened her.

"If you wish to get a place," she said, "you must be quiet and respectful in your manners. If you sit down a bit, we may have other ladies in."

Peggy took a seat in silence. She saw a good deal of coming and going, was interviewed herself by a publican's wife, a grocer's, and a young bride just married to a plumber and gasfitter, but she calmly declined each of these situations, asserting gravely—

"I means to live in a proper house, in a real good place."

Then the Miss Shipleys lost patience with her.

"You tell us you have had no experience, and have never been out before. You ought to be thankful to any one for being willing to take you and train you. You bring us no references, and yet expect to get a first class place. It is quite ridiculous. You are really too small and young to be in service at all."

Peggy felt dismay for the first time, but she sat still in her corner. Other servants came and went, but she did indeed seem to be the smallest of them all. Presently, with a sigh, she got up.

"P'raps I'll call again to-morrow," she said. "There must be some nice places goin', and I means to get into one of 'em!"

She made her exit very quietly. The Miss Shipleys seemed rather relieved to get rid of her.

Once outside, big tears came to her eyes.

"Peggy, you ought to be 'shamed of yourself, great cry-baby! You've got your clothes, and of course you'll get a place."

She rubbed her eyes vigorously, and was startled when she heard a lady's voice close to her.

"What is the matter, little girl? Can't you get a place?"

Peggy looked up astonished, not knowing that her words were overheard.

A lady dressed in mourning was addressing her, and Peggy thought she had one of the sweetest faces that she had ever seen.

"Oh, please 'm," she cried, "do you want a servant? I'd like ever so to come and live with you."

The lady smiled. "I am just going in to the Registry for a girl, but I think you are too small."

"That's what they say," said Peggy, with a little gulp in her throat. "And if they only knew what I can do! I can scrub floors, and clean grates, and make beds, and clean winders—"

She rattled off the list of her accomplishments with hope once more shining in her eyes, as she saw the lady's interest in her.

"And, please 'm," she hurried to say, "I don't mind if you don't have a garding; but I'd do for you faithful wherever you be."

"We can't well talk in the street," said the lady. "Come inside. I will ask Miss Shipley about you."

Peggy followed her in with bright eyes and red cheeks.

"We don't know anything about her, Miss Churchhill," said Miss Shipley when questioned. "She appeared about an hour ago. We wonder if she is quite—well, quite bright!"

The lady looked down at Peggy's eager face.

"Not much the matter there," she said, with a smile.

"The fact is, Miss Shipley, we are giving up our town house, and my sister and I have taken a small cottage in the country. We thought of taking some respectable girl down with us."

"Oh, please 'm," broke in the irrepressible Peggy, "'tis the very place for me. Mrs. Creak says the country is so clean, and I'll have to be awful careful with my caps and aprons. Oh, please try me, and see if I don't soot you."

Miss Churchhill smiled again, and then questioned her closely as to references. The interview ended in Peggy leading the lady straight to Mrs. Creak's sweet-shop.

"Mrs. Creak will tell you all about me 'm. And she knows what good service is, for she lived in a Rectory. I s'pose 'm, you haven't a Rectory and a church belongin' to you!"

Miss Churchhill's eyes grow moist.

"I have known what it is to have a church belonging to me," she said gently. "My father was in charge of one in the East End, and died from overwork only a month ago."

Peggy nodded sympathetically.

"I've had a death belongin' to me, too," she said. "'Tis awful! 'Twas my aunt, and now I've no one left."

When they entered the shop, Miss Churchhill asked Peggy to wait outside.

"I want to have a private talk with Mrs. Creak," she said.

Peggy trod the pavement outside with firm steps.

"You've done it, Peg! You've found yerself a place with a real lady, and it has been as straight and easy as anythink!"

Some acquaintances accosted her.

"'Ulloo, Peggy, goin' to church on a weekday?"

"'Ave you bin to a treat?"

"I'm a-goin' into service," said Peggy, with uplifted head.

"Oh, you por critter!"

Then they danced round her singing—

"Worked in the army, worked in the navy, But most worked o' all is the poor little slavey; Cookin' and scrubbin', dustin' and runnin', Missis is allays a-beatin' and scoldin'!"

Peggy turned upon them furiously.

"You keep your tongues quiet. I'm a-goin' to the country, I am! When you gets taken for a day's 'curshion, you think o' me! Not pickin' flowers and eatin' apples and blackberries one day in the year, but all the year round, all day long, I'll be doin' it! I shall live in a hop-garding orchard, and never want no dinner off sassages or herrins, for I shall eat strawberries and plums and grapes till I got quite a tired o' their taste!"

"Go it, Peg!" cried out a small boy. "And where be yer goin' to live? In a carawan?"

"In a white house," went on Peggy waxing warm in her enthusiasm, "with walls covered with roses, and a green door; and vi'lets, and lilies and chrysanthys all over the garding, and a pond with swans, and a fountain—"

"Garn wi' yer!"

A piece of mud was flung at her. Peggy beat a hasty retreat, and tumbled into the arms of Miss Churchhill.

"If you please 'm, may I come?"

"I am going to see your Sunday school teacher. I know her slightly. Mrs. Creak gives a good account of you, Peggy, but you see Mrs. Creak is quite a stranger to me."

"She's real good 'm, Mrs. Creak is."

"I have no doubt of it. I will write to you after I have seen Miss Gregory. Good afternoon, Peggy."

Miss Churchhill walked away, and Peggy darted into the sweet-shop, where she stayed for half an hour talking over the wonderful fortune that might be coming to her.