The herald., 1897-01-24

for roast and boil. Master Basil had q
| fanciful appetite, but what was put on
his plate, that he had to eat, willy or
! nilly, so that the dinner got to be the
most trying moment of all the trying
day to Ellen. The cooking lay heavy
| on her brain, and the strain of wonder
ing how the things on the fire would taste
and turn out was almost more than she
could bear in silence. All she thought
| was to save Master Basil a. scene by
getting him food to his Hiking.
, When Ridgeway was empty,
| the season being over and the visitors
gone, Ellen might have had an easier
| time, with her body at least, but when
the boy fell Ill and lay in his little
bed tossing and thirsty, and asking
for this, that, and the other, continually,
she got desperate pale in the fan. and
never considering her poor legs, ran up
to him every minute she had, and min
utes she couldn't spare neither-popping
into his room like pendulum, only a
pendulum of flesh and blood. which
wears out quicker than clockwork. When
he got well, and was up again. he'd fol-
low her about from room to room, while
she was so cheerful, and had such a
constant smiling look, that it made me
wonder whether I missed anything in
not taking to children.
MRS. Butler was O. poor sort of missus,
always on the outlook for a grievance or
grumble; she had picked up bullying
ways from her husband and she set on
Ellen for wasting her time in trapesing
after the boy. One cause and 'tother 1t
was dogs life the girl led.
Well, winter came ONT Is a rough
stormy coast down here-and I never re-
member fiercer, colder, nor yet CUSTER
December. Just before Christmas the
pale gentleman grew bit Raler and be-
gan to cough, nasty sort of cough such
as weakens man let him be as strong as
blacksmith. 1t was hack, hack. hack.
all day and best part of the night; it
made my chest ache to hear him through
the thin walls.
Out of heart he laid down his pen, then
the lady left off curling her hair and took
on something dreadful: no wonder she
cried and fretted. getting moody and
cross in the trouble, for they lived hand
to mouth, like one of us, which Is very
trying living to gentle folk.
PART II.
Time went on, and things did not I'M
prove with the downstair dodgers next
door. February was part way through,
and we had snow on the ground, and
cruel east wind lasting for weeks. The
sea was mad with the cold and beloved
and pounded on the cliffs splashing the
rocks. and making a continual moaning
uproar which was very trying to those
who had time to listen to it-and 1t was
time the invalid gentleman had-plenty
OF that, though not much else to call his
own.
1t was one forenoon only last week
that was down in the kitchen warming
myself by the fire. for 1t was bitter cold,
when I1
with the frost, and looked down in the
mouth. Though she came up to the
range and held her hand out to the blaze.
she didn't move natural, nor as If she
knew what she did. and she didn't wish
me good day." nor did she smile at all
How is the little lad?" l asked at
once, seeing she was put out, for, know
the cold, and with blows and hard words
and short food. most unconcerned and
gentle, l guessed the trouble in her ace
came with the child.
The tears came into her eyesNand girls
brought up hard in the workhouse don't
cry for nothing as their betters do.
Why what's the matter, Ellen?"
says I.
There's all the world the matter" she
answers, hoarse and husky in her throat;
the gentleman is very bad, indeed, and
the lady is desperate down-hearted.
There are bills coming in, with not a
penny in the house to pay them. The
rooms weren't paid last week; they will
be turned out into the street; they will
they will, indeed"
l knew she was dreading she would
lose the boy, and I tried to speak
up sharp and cheer her.
See the lots of extra work YOU have
with the little chap" said; you might
get new place any day, more wages
and less worry
Then she burst out crying. not noisily,
but gasping and tears like rain.
Work" she says. work? He cries
out for me all day long, he putshis arms
round my neck; he's happy long with
me; he wants me all the time. You call
that work; it's the only play I've ever
known-that's what 1t is, Sarah; and
I'm going to lose 1t now. have got to
take him to his grandfa ther's this very
afternoon. His mother wrote letter,
very pitiful 1t is; she's read it out "a
many a times and made 1t so; we are to
take it across the downs to the big house,
and I'm to ring the bell, and. when the
door is opened, I'm to shove the little
chap into the hall with the letter in his
hand. Then I'm to turn and run home
here; I'm to leave him all among stran-
gers and he so shy as wild bird-that
is his mothers orders"
Does she reckon they will keep him
on at the big house?"