Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. [Illustration] HEEDLESS HETTY BY ANNETTE LYSTER AUTHOR OF "KARL KRAPP'S LITTLE MAIDENS," "WHAT SHE COULD," "RALPH TRULOCK'S CHRISTMAS ROSES," "THE RUTHERFORD FROWN," ETC. London THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY 56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD AND 164, PICCADILLY BUTLER & TANNER, THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS, FROME, AND LONDON. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. MRS. EYRE WANTS A GIRL II. LITTLE FLO III. FLO'S KITTEN IV. "WHAT'S IN A NAME?" V. UPS AND DOWNS VI. MRS. GOODENOUGH'S ADVICE VII. CHERRIES VIII. AT THE SEA-SIDE IX. THE BIG BLACK DOG X. FORGIVEN HEEDLESS HETTY. CHAPTER I. MRS. EYRE WANTS A GIRL. "GOOD-EVENING, Mrs. Hardy," said a pleasant voice, as the speaker tapped with her hand upon the half-open door of Mrs. Hardy's cottage. Mrs. Hardy was a washerwoman, and her visitor knew that sometimes there was but scant room in her kitchen for strangers; indeed, she often wondered how the children managed on a wet day, and how the little ones escaped scalds and burns. However, this being Friday evening, the actual work was over, and the big deal table was piled with heaps of snowy linen, which Mrs. Hardy and her daughter Martha were sorting out and packing in nice large baskets, ready to be carried home the next day. "Oh, come in, Mrs. Eyre; you needn't be afraid of the wash-tubs or the hot irons to-day. We've finished everything, ma'am." "And such lots of things," said Mrs. Eyre, as she took the seat offered her by Martha. "I am sure I don't know how you get through it all, Mrs. Hardy." "Well, ma'am, it takes a power of method. When I first took up this business, often I had all the ironing to do on Saturday, or the most of it; and then 'twas hurry-scurry in the evening to get the things home. I used to get so worried that I fairly thought I'd die. And one Saturday morning, who should come in but your good mother, ma'am, that's in heaven now; and the pleasant way she had. There was I on that chair in the corner, crying, and all the children crying round me. So says she, 'My poor Hannah, are you fretting so badly yet?' I dried my eyes and felt ashamed—for she thought I was crying for my poor man that had died about a year before; and I had to confess that I was crying because I didn't see how to get the ironing done. But indeed I have too much talk—all this don't matter to you." "Ah, but it does—anything about my dear mother matters to me. Go on with your work, Mrs. Hardy, and tell me the rest of your story. I'm very sure she helped you."