yellow-like hair.  I haven’t knowed well what to do; I thought I’d ought to send her to the ’orspital, but then I found the henvelope in her pocket, an’ we thought we’d just wait a day to see if anybody answered us.  And I didn’t like to act heartless with her, neither; she’s a motherless thing, so she says, an’ only wants for to earn her keep and her sleep; an’ I don’t think there’s no harm in her, s’far as I can see.  She come into the shop last night was three weeks, just after eleven o’clock, and she says, ’If you please, mum,’ she says, speakin’ very nice, ’can you give me a bed for sevenpence?’ ‘Why, I don’t know about that,’ says I, ’I haven’t a bedroom as I let usial under a shilling.’  Then she was for goin’ straight away, without another word.  And she was so quiet like, it took me as I couldn’t send her off without asking her something about herself.  And she said she hadn’t got no ’ome in London, and only sevenpence in her pocket, and as how she wanted to find work.  And she must have walked about a deal, she looked that dead beat.

’Well, I just went in and spoke a word to Mr. Gandle.  It’s true as we wanted someone to help me ’an ’Lizabeth; we’ve wanted someone bad for a long time.  And this young girl wouldn’t be amiss, we thought, for waitin’ in the shop; the men likes to see a noo face, you know, mum, an’ all the more if it’s a good-looking ’un.  If she’d been a orn’ary lookin’ girl, of course I couldn’t have not so much as thought of it, as things was.  She told me plain an’ straightforward as she couldn’t say who she was and where she come from.  And it was something in her way o’ speakin’, a kind o’ quietness like, as you don’t hoften get in young girls nowadays.  They’re so for’ard, as their parents ain’t got the same ’old on ’em as they had when I was young.  I shouldn’t wonder if you’ve noticed the same thing with your servants, mum.  An’ so I said as I’d let her have a bed for sevenpence; and if you’d a’ seen how thankful she looked.  She wasn’t the kind to go an’ sleep anywhere, an’ goodness only knows what might a’ come to her at that hour o’ the night.  And the next mornin’ she did look that white an’ poorly, when I met her a-comin’ down the stairs.  ‘Well,’ says I, ‘an’ what about breakfast, eh?’ She went a bit red like, an’ said as it didn’t matter; she’d go out an’ find work.  ‘Well, look here now,’ says I, ’suppose you wash up them things there to pay for a cup o’ tea and two slices?’ An’ then she looked at me thankful again, an’ says as it was kind o’ me.  Well, of course, you may say as it isn’t everybody ‘ud a’ took her in for sevenpence, but then, as I was a-sayin’, we did want somebody to help me an’ ‘Lizabeth, an’ I don’t take much to myself for what I did.’

‘You acted well and kindly, Mrs. Gandle,’ said Mrs. Ormonde.

So the long story went on.  The girl had been only too glad to stay as general servant, and worked well, worked as hard as any one could expect, Mrs. Gandle said.  But she was far from well, and every day, after the first week, her strength fell off.  At length she had a fainting fit, falling with two dishes in her hands.  Her work had to be lightened.  But the fainting was several times repeated, and, now three days ago, illness it was impossible to struggle against kept her to her bed.