prospect of this young girl's presence in the house.

Hilda now saw her in another aspect. She wore a large foul apron of
sacking, which made her elegant body quite shapeless, and she was
kneeling on the red-and-black tiled floor of the kitchen, with her
enormous cracked boots sticking out behind her. At one side of her was a
pail full of steaming brown water, and in her red coarse little hands,
which did not seem to belong to those gracile arms, she held a dripping
clout. In front of her, on a half-dried space of clean, shining floor,
stood Mrs. Lessways, her head wrapped in a flannel petticoat. Nearer to
the child stretched a small semi-circle of liquid mud; to the rear was
the untouched dirty floor. Florrie was looking up at her mistress with
respectful, strained attention. She could not proceed with her work
because Mrs. Lessways had chosen this moment to instruct her, with much
snuffling, in the duties and responsibilities of her position.

"Yes, mum," Florrie whispered. She seemed to be incapable of speaking
beyond a whisper. But the whisper was delicate and agreeable; and
perhaps it was a mysterious sign of her alleged unusual physical
strength.

"You'll have to be down at half-past six. Then you'll light your kitchen
fire, but of course you'll get your coal up first. And then you'll do
your boots. Now the bacon--but never mind that--either Miss Hilda or me
will be down to-morrow morning to show you."

"Yes, mum," Florrie's whisper was grateful.

"When you've got things going a bit like, you'll do your parlour--I've
told you all about that, though. But I didn't tell you--except on