"It ain't the thing to take a girl without a character," said Mrs. Preedy. Upon this I delivered a master-stroke. "You can consider it in the wages," I said. It had an effect upon the woman. "How much do you expect?" she asked. "I'm not particular," I answered; "all I want is a comfortable home." There were plenty more questions and answers. Mrs. Preedy must have been in a desperate plight for a domestic, or I should have stood a poor chance of being engaged; but engaged I was at £8 a year, "all found," and I commenced my new life at once by following my mistress into the kitchen, and washing up the plates and dishes, and cleaning the candlesticks. Mrs. Preedy's eye was on me. "It's easy to see," she said, "that you've never been in service before. But I dare say you'll do. Mind! I make my girls pay for all they break!" I can't help laughing when I think of her words. Reckoning up the things I have already let slip--(they _will_ do it; I can't prevent them; really I believe they are alive)--I have arrived at the conclusion that the whole of my first month's wages will be presented to me in broken crockery. My cheerfulness over my misfortunes is a source of considerable astonishment to my mistress. When I finished washing up the things, I was sent out to "The Green Dragon" for the supper beer, and upon my return, took possession of my very small bedroom, and, unpacking my bundle of clothes (which had already been untied and examined by Mrs. Preedy while I was fetching the supper beer--artful woman!) I went to bed. Mrs. Preedy had no need to tell me to be up early in the morning. I was awake all night, but I was not unhappy, for I thought of you and of the likelihood that I might be able to help you. My name, my dear, is Becky. So behold me fairly launched on my adventure. And let me entreat of you, once and for all, not to distress yourself about me. I am very comfortable, and as the house is almost empty there is not much to do. It is astonishing how easily we accustom ourselves to circumstances.