Our Little Lady | Page 7

taken any notice of the
humble foster-sister who lived in that tiny house, and worked: for her
living-- she and her daughter being both widows, and the child
dependent on them. It was hard work then, as now, for such people to
get along. It is often really harder for them than for the very poor.
The guests being now come, Agnes dished up the four-hours--if that
can be called dishing up when there were no dishes! She lifted a great
pan off the hook where it hung over the fire--for it must be remembered
there were no bars, and pans had to be hung over the fire by a handle
like that of a kettle--and poured out into the bowl a quantity of soup.
She then served out a cake of white bread to the Bishop--a rare dainty--
black bread to the chaplain and her mother, and hard oat-cake for
herself and Avice. They then began to eat, after the Bishop had made
the sign of the crossover the bowl, which answered to saying grace; all
the spoons going into the one bowl, the Bishop being respectfully

allowed to help himself first.
"And how goes it now with thee, my sister Muriel?" asked the Bishop.
The Grandmother gave a little shake of her head, though she answered
cheerfully enough.
"Things go pretty well, holy Father, I thank you. Work is off and on, as
it may be; but we manage to keep a roof over our heads, as you see, and
we can even find a bowl of broth and a wheat-cake for our friends. The
Lord be praised for all His mercies!"
"Well said, my sister. And what do you intend to make of your little
maid here?"
"Marry, I intend to make a good worker of her," said Agnes in her turn,
"and not an idle giggling good-for-nought, as most of the lasses be. She
shall spin, and weave, and card, and sew, and scour, and wash, and
bake, and brew, and churn, and cook, and not let the grass grow under
her feet, or else I'll see!"
"Truly a goodly list of duties for one maid," replied the Bishop, with a
smile. "And yet, good Agnes, I am about to ask if thou canst find room
for another on the top of them."
"Verily, holy Father, I am she that should work my fingers to the bone
to pleasure you," was the hearty answer.
"I thank thee, good my daughter. How shouldst thou like to go to
London?"
"To London, Father!" And Agnes's eyes grew as round as shillings.
To go to London was then looked on as a very serious matter. People
made their wills before they started. And to ignorant Agnes, who had
never in her life been ten miles from Lincoln, it sounded almost as
tremendous an idea as being asked to go to the moon.
The Bishop smiled. He had been to Paris and Lyons.

"Ay, even to London town. I do indeed mean it, my daughter. There is,
methinks, a career open to thee, which most should reckon rare
preferment, and good success. Ah, what is success?" he added, as if to
himself. "Howbeit, thou shalt hear. The Lady Queen lacketh nurses for
her children, and reckoning thou shouldst well fill such a place, I made
bold to speak for thee. And she thus far granted me, that thou shouldst
go up to Windsor, where the King's children are kept, and she herself is
at this present, there to talk with her, and let her see if thou art fit for
the post. If on further acquaintance she be pleased with thee, then shalt
thou be made nurse to one of the children; and if not, then the Lady
Queen will pay thy charges home. What sayest, my daughter?--and
thou also, Muriel, my sister?"
Both Muriel and Agnes felt as if their breath were taken away. As to
Avice, she was listening with those large ears for which little pitchers
are proverbial. The Bishop had spoken quietly, as if it were an
every-day occurrence, of this enormous change which would affect
their whole lives.
"Verily, Father, you are too good to us," said Muriel gratefully.
"And I will try to thank you, Father," added Agnes, "when I get back
my senses, and can find out whether I am on my head or my heels."
The Bishop and his chaplain laughed; and Agnes, recalled to her duties
by seeing the soup-bowl empty, jumped up and took down the spit on
which a chicken was roasting at the fire. Chickens were dear just then,
and this one had cost three farthings, having been provided in honour
of company. People helped themselves in those days in a very rough
and simple manner. Agnes held the chicken