CHAPTER I.

LIZZIE'S HOME.

"NO, I won't put up with it; there are plenty of places for a girl now-a-days, and I don't see why I should be expected to bear with people's tempers and never speak up for myself."

"Now, Lizzie, be reasonable. Perhaps there are more places to be had, but a girl never does any good for herself who is always changing." And as she spoke, Mrs. Betts took another hot iron down from the fire, and recommenced smoothing out the shirt that was spread on the board before her.

"But, Mother, why should I have to put up with people's crossness?" demanded the girl in an imperative tone.

"We all have something to put up with, Lizzie. Do you think it's pleasant for me to have to take in washing, just to make ends meet, because your father's work is so bad just now?"

The girl cast her eyes carelessly upon the fine white shirt her mother was ironing.

"I shouldn't mind doing that," she said; then all in a minute she started up alert and eager. "Oh! Mother, that's just the very thing; why shouldn't I come home and help you with the washing and ironing?" she exclaimed.

"Because I couldn't afford it, my girl," said her mother quietly.

"But you could get a bit more work—another family's washing, and then you could manage, Mother," said Lizzie in the same eager tone. She wondered she had not thought of it before; but now this way of escape from the necessity of going to service had occurred to her, she was not going to let it slip. "We could manage beautifully; I'm sure we could, Mother," she said earnestly. "I've learned some things since I've been in service, and you'd find I could help you a good deal more than you expect."

"You ought to be more handy. You have been out nearly a year now, and if you had kept all the time in your first place you would have been worth something by this time; for Mrs. Roberts prides herself on turning out good servants."

"Oh! Yes, I daresay; but what girl would put up with her fidgety ways?" said Lizzie.

"Many girls are glad to get the chance. Look at Mary Russell, she has been there ever since you left, and her mother tells me she is learning to cook and make pastry quite nicely."

"Oh! Well, let her. It's no good crying over spilt milk. Mrs. Roberts never taught me cooking, and I don't suppose she ever would if I'd stopped with her fifty years. Now, Mother, say I may give warning as soon as I go back, and let me come and help you instead of looking for another place."

But Mrs. Betts shook her head. "No, no, Lizzie," she said; "your father wouldn't like it. You must try to put up with Mrs. Spencer's temper; and be careful how you do your work, and then she will not be cross with you."

"You don't know her," snapped Lizzie; "nobody ever can please her. The girl next door told me as good as that the first day I went."

"Very well; if you knew your mistress was hard to please you should have been more careful not to offend her. Just think of it—you have had three places in less than twelve months! The first was dull, and your mistress too particular. You would go where there was children: before you had been a month in the nursery you could not bear the fretful baby—"

"Well, it was a cross little thing; you know that yourself, Mother," interrupted the girl.

"Well, perhaps it was cross; but then your mistress was very kind and considerate, and you might have put up with the baby's fretfulness for a little while longer. I tell you, Lizzie, that go wherever you may, there will be something to put up with. The world isn't a bed of roses for anybody, I can tell you; and if you don't have one thing to try you, it will be another."

"Yes, I daresay it will," said Lizzie, folding over the corner of the ironing-cloth; "but still I don't see why I should have to put up with strange people's tempers when I can help you at home."

"But I don't want you at home," remonstrated her mother. "The little bit of washing I have got I can manage by myself, and I cannot afford to keep a great girl like you."

"But you could get some more, I daresay," persisted Lizzie; "and then—"

But here the talk was interrupted by the entrance of her father, and she thought it would be best not to say any more about it at present.

"Where's Jack?" she asked, looking round for her brother, as her father set down his basket of tools which her brother usually carried.

Mrs. Betts looked up from her ironing, too, in a questioning manner. "There's nothing wrong, is there?" she said a little anxiously.

"No, no, Mother, there's nothing wrong but this: that we've only made about a couple of hours to-day between us, and Jack heard of a place that was vacant at the foundry, and so he's gone to see about it."

"But you couldn't do without Jack, Father, could you?" said Lizzie. "I thought you always wanted a boy for a soldering job, and you said the other day he was getting so handy you wouldn't know what to do without him."

"But I shall have to do without him if there's no work to be got," said her father with something like a growl, as he seated himself by the fire.

Mrs. Betts sighed and turned to her ironing again. "Don't you be late, Lizzie," she said; "and try all you can to please your mistress."

"Ah! Don't you be giving up this place just as things are at their worst at home," said her father by way of emphasis to his wife's remark.

Lizzie nodded her head but made no reply. She had begun to make a plan for her future, which her father's words did not in the least alter. She did not like service, she had made up her mind about that now, and she intended to get out of it as soon as she could, and do something that would afford her more liberty than she could have while out in a situation. She had not thought about living at home again until her mother mentioned the washing, but she caught at this as affording a chance for her return.

She bade her mother and father good-night, and went out, but she was in no hurry to go back to her mistress; and so, when she saw a friend at the corner of the street, she was quite eager to enter into conversation, and even to turn back and go with her on her errand.

"Why didn't you meet me on Sunday, as you promised, Emma?" she said in a reproachful tone.

"I couldn't get out. Three of the children were so poorly, and now the baby is quite ill," said the girl.

"And you stayed in for that?"

"Of course I did. How could I leave them?"

"Hadn't they got a mother?" demanded Lizzie.

"What makes you ask such a question as that? You know they have; and she's a kind considerate mistress, too," said Emma.

"Oh yes, very kind," said Lizzie with something like a sneer; "very kind she must be, to keep a poor girl in all day on Sunday—the only day she has a chance of getting out to see her friends."

"But she didn't keep me in," retorted Emma warmly. "She said I could go out as usual; but poor little Ethel cried so when she saw me with my bonnet on, that I said I would stay in. And I know mistress was glad enough about it; for she was able to go and lie down and get an hour's rest, while I kept the children quiet in the nursery."

"Well, Emma Russell, you are a muff! Anybody may know it's your first place!" exclaimed Lizzie scornfully. "To think of taking your things off after you had got ready to go out, and sitting down to mind a pack of cross children. Well, it's what I wouldn't do."

"Well, I would; and I'll do it again next Sunday if they don't get better."

"Oh! I daresay you'll do it every Sunday in future," said Lizzie with a short mocking laugh, "your mistress will take care of that, never fear. If you stop at home one Sunday, she'll think you can stay every Sunday."

"No, she won't," replied Emma. "And if she did, I'd rather put up with it than have the poor children crying for me as soon as my back was turned."

"Pack of rubbish! Let them cry, and let their mother quiet them," said Lizzie. "I tell you what it is, Emma,—it is girls like you who spoil places, and make mistresses expect so much of girls. I know—I've seen it."

Her companion laughed. "One would think you had been out at service ten years instead of ten months," she said.

"I've seen enough in ten months, though, to sicken me of service; and I don't mean to put up with it much longer."

"What are you going to do then, Lizzie?" asked her companion in some curiosity.

"Oh! I don't know yet; but I shan't stay in service much longer. Are you going back to your place now? Because we may as well walk together if you are, and I can tell you what I've been thinking of."

"Wait a minute until I go in and ask Mother if she's made my new aprons; for I want them to wear, and mistress said I might come and ask about them."

"You've never been buying more new aprons, Emma?" exclaimed her friend. "I'm sure you wanted a new hat more than aprons."

"I'm sure I didn't," contradicted Emma. "A new hat! And I only had that the beginning of the summer, and have just worn it on Sunday afternoons. I mean to make that last all the winter with a bit of new dark ribbon."

"Well I wouldn't spend the money in buying coarse aprons," retorted Lizzie. "Now make haste, and I'll wait for you," she said as they reached the door of Emma's house.

She would not go inside, for she did not like Mrs. Russell (she thought she was too strict with Emma); and so she paced up and down the street for the ten minutes Emma was chatting. She ought to have been back at her home—her mistress would be sure to scold her, for she was told that she could go out for an hour to see her mother, but not to stay longer, as she would be wanted. She remembered something of this just as Emma joined her, and she said:

"Come, make haste, I ought to be home by this time."

But she forgot her hurry when the broad lighted street was reached, where tempting displays of ribbon and lace were spread out in the shop windows.

"Do stop a minute and look at this hat, I'm going to ask Mother to make me one like it," said Lizzie catching her companion by the arm, and drawing her towards the brilliantly-lighted shop.

Emma paused a minute to look at the hat Lizzie was so anxious she should see, but she did not stay to admire it. "I want to get back," she said; "I am afraid the children will wake up while I am out."

"Oh! Bother the children; surely you can stay a minute. Just look at that lace, isn't it cheap? I mean to buy some out of my next money."

Emma paused again to look for a minute where she was directed. "I can't see the fun of looking at things we are never likely to want, and never shall be able to buy," she said.

"But I mean to buy them some day," said Lizzie. "I don't believe in dressing a dowdy fright, and spending all my money in coarse aprons."

"But you can't do without tidy holland aprons, and you can do without lace," laughed Emma.

"But I can't, and I won't; and that's another reason why I hate service. A servant mustn't dress nice, or wear anything like her mistress; and she must wear caps and white aprons that cost no end of money, just to please other people, and I won't do it."

"But what will you do?" asked Emma. "Girls don't go to service for the fun of the thing, of course. If Mother could keep me at home, she would be very glad to have me help her with the children; but she can't afford it, now there are so many of us."

"Well, my mother will have to afford it. There are only two of us besides Mother and Father; and now Mother's began to take in a bit of washing, I know she wants me at home to help her."

"Well, if she wants you at home, of course you ought to go," said Emma. And then she suddenly added, "I say, Lizzie, do you think she would take a bit more washing?"

"I'm sure she would if she could get it. That's just what we want. Why did you ask?"

"Because my mistress wants to find somebody that will do ours without tearing the clothes so much. Last week one of my collars and two of baby's pinafores were torn all to pieces."

"Oh! Do speak for Mother to have it, Emma," said her friend eagerly. "I know she would be very particular, and she can iron shirts beautifully."

"If she can iron shirts nicely, and don't tear the clothes, she will be sure to do very well for us," said Emma; "and I'll speak to mistress about it to-morrow."

"Oh! You are a dear. If you will do that, I shall be so glad," said Lizzie.

Emma was surprised to find her friend so eager about this.

They had paused at the top of the street where Lizzie lived to have the last bit of talk about the washing, and Emma turned away after saying "good-night," but the next instant Lizzie was beside her again.

"I shall come a little way down this road with you," she said.

"Won't you be late? I thought you wanted to get back," said her companion, walking sharper now to make up for the time she had wasted looking in at the shops.

"Oh! It don't matter," answered Lizzie lightly. "When do you think you will know about the washing?" she asked.

"Well, I'll speak about it to-morrow morning if I can, and tell you when I get out on Sunday what she says about it."

"Mind you do get out next Sunday. I walked up and down this road for an hour last Sunday afternoon waiting for you."

"Oh! I shall be able to come next Sunday I should think. For the children will be better I hope, and there will be nothing to hinder me," said Emma; and then she once more bade her friend "good-night," and turned homeward without any further delay.

Lizzie had been out nearly two hours instead of one, and her mistress had been put to some inconvenience, and was very cross when she got back.

"I told you I could only spare you for an hour, Elizabeth," she said as she opened the door to her young maid of all work. "You have been out nearly two hours. Where have you been all this time?"

"Home," answered Lizzie with a toss of her head.

"But surely your mother would not keep you so long? Did you tell her I could only spare you for an hour to-night?"

"No; I didn't think it mattered."

"Now, Elizabeth, if you stay here you must obey me," said the lady sharply; for her manner was so provoking she felt strongly inclined to give her notice to leave there and then.

It was just what Lizzie was wishing she would do; but Mrs. Spencer, out of compassion for her mother, resolved to try and bear with her a little longer, hoping the girl's own good sense would be sufficient to convince her of the folly of what she was doing.

"You ought to try and do as you are told, for your mother's sake if not for your own," went on the lady in a reasoning tone, while Lizzie stood stretching the elastic of her hat, looking as indifferent and defiant as she well could.

"There! You had better go to the kitchen and set the supper tray," she said at last, finding she could make no impression upon her; and Lizzie walked along the passage, swinging her hat as she went in a manner totally indifferent.

In reality, she was disappointed. She had made up her mind that her mistress would be so vexed because she was late that she would give her warning to leave as soon as she went home, and that this had not happened provoked her considerably. She threw her hat down in the corner of the kitchen, dashed the knives out of the tray on to the table with as much clatter as she could, snatched the plates from the rack and set them on the tray without wiping them, and smashed a tumbler lifting it from the shelf.

The breaking of the glass seemed to have a calming effect upon her temper, and she was moving about more quietly when her mistress came in to see what was broken.

"Another tumbler, Elizabeth?" she said, taking up one of the broken pieces.

"Another! I haven't broke one before," said the girl gruffly.

"Didn't you break one last week?" queried Mrs. Spencer. "And didn't I tell you then that you would have to pay for the next out of your own money?"

"But I didn't say I'd do it," answered Lizzie pertly.

"No! But I shall expect it done; and therefore I shall stop sixpence—the value of it—out of your next month's money."

"Then I won't stop here," said Lizzie, throwing down the salt spoon she had in her hand. "I'm not going to work hard for my money, and then buy your glasses with it, and—"

But her mistress turned round and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Lizzie to rave at the walls if she pleased; for she closed the door as she went out, so that no one should hear what the foolish girl said.