I have but one thing more to relate, and that will bring the history of your adventurous little woman up to the present moment of writing. It is an important incident, and has a direct bearing upon all that has gone before. At nine o'clock to-night the street door was opened and closed. My mistress and I were in the kitchen. "It is Mr. Manx," said Mrs. Preedy. "I didn't know he had a latch key," I observed. "I gave him one to-day," said Mrs. Preedy. "He is looking for a situation, poor young man, and asked me for a latch key, as he might have to keep out late at night, and didn't like to disturb me." "Very considerate of him," I said. "What kind of situation is he after? Is he anything at all?" "He is a professor of languages, Becky, and a musician besides." "What kind of musician?" I asked, scornfully. "A trombone player?" "I can't say, Becky." "Does he play the cornet, or the fiddle," I continued, with a certain recklessness which overcame me for a few moments, "or the harp, or the flute, or the piano?" And as I said "or the piano?" a dish I was wiping slipped clean out of my hands, and was broken to pieces. "What a careless girl you are, Becky!" cried my mistress. "That makes the third you have broken since you've been here." "Never mind," I said, "I have had a legacy left me." She stared at me, and cried "A legacy!" And, upon my word, my dear, until she repeated the words, I scarcely knew what it was I _had_ said. However, I was committed to it now, and was bound to proceed. "Yes; a legacy. That is what I really went about last night." The information so staggered her that her voice became quite deferential. "Is it much, Becky?" "A clear three hundred pounds," I replied, "and perhaps a little more. I shall know for a certainty in a week or two." "You'll be giving me notice presently, I daresay, Becky, now you've come into money." "Not unless you want to get rid of me," I replied. "Becky," said Mrs. Preedy, graciously, "I am very satisfied with you. You can remain with me as long as you like, and when we part I hope we shall part friends." "I hope so too, mum; and I hope you'll think none the worse of me because I've been so fortunate. I should like to hear of _your_ having such a slice of luck." "Thank you, Becky," said my mistress, meekly, "but _I_ wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth." "Ah," said I, wisely, "it isn't always the most deserving as gets the best rewarded." Do you know, my dear, so strong is the force of example and association, that I sometimes catch myself speaking exactly as if I had been born in that station of life which I am at present occupying in Mrs. Preedy's service. Here a bell rang. "That's Mrs. Bailey's bell," I said; "shall I go up to her, or will you?" "You go, Becky," said Mrs. Preedy; "she likes you best." Up I went, and found Mrs. Bailey writhing in bed; she was evidently in pain. "My side, Becky, my side!" moaned the old creature. "You promised to rub it for me?"