Mother-Meg; or, The Story of Dickie's AtticShaw, Catharine
General
Mother-Meg; or, The Story of Dickie's Attic
Shaw, Catharine
London (England) -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction; Poor children -- Fiction
"So I should, child. But look here, I've found a small apron of mine as
'ull do nicely for you to go to the doctor's with. Mind, Cherry, you
never take it dirty, my dear. There it is on that chair."
Cherry found a clean, neatly-folded apron ready for her, and to her
thinking it added to her appearance just the one thing she wanted.
She thanked Mrs. Seymour very gratefully, and ran down-stairs.
Many had been Meg's instructions the evening before as to how she was to
clean the steps of the doctor's house, and Jem's hearth had been cleaned
three times over, in order that Cherry should know properly how to do
it.
As she hurried along the two or three streets which intervened between
their house and the doctor's, she thought over all Meg had said, and
hoped she should do it right.
It was a very nervous little girl who rang at the area bell, as the
church clock near struck seven.
"Who are you?" asked the cook. "Ah, I know. Well, my dear, here's the
pail and things; do it from outside, and I'll open the front door for
you to begin on the top step. Here's the mat to kneel on. Don't you
leave it out there, nor the broom, or they'll be walked off with."
Cherry promised, and waited while the cook went up-stairs to unfasten
the door.
"Please," said Cherry, looking up with her candid eyes, "I'm not very
used to making stones white, but mother-Meg says I shall do it much
better in a day or two."
"All right; and if you don't quite know anythink, you just come to me,
and I'll tell you."
Cherry began sweeping, and the cook went back to prepare her master's
breakfast.
"Poor little thing," she said compassionately, when the housemaid came
down to put away her brushes, "she don't look strong. I wonder master
chose such a child."
"How old is she, then?"
"She looks fifteen, but she's that small and thin. She limps, and one of
her shoulders is all crooked, but I never see a prettier face in my
life. Her eyes is soft and large, and altogether----"
But Jane could not stay to hear, for the busy doctor must have
everything punctual, so cook finished her sentence to herself.
When Cherry came back with the pail and broom, cook went to inspect her
work in a very kindly spirit.
"It don't look quite _clear_, my dear, but as your mother says, you'll
improve if you take pains. You've done it very well considering. Hasn't
she, Jane? Come and see."
This was to give Jane, who was passing through the hall at the moment,
an opportunity of agreeing with cook's verdict on Cherry's eyes.
"I haven't a mother, please," answered Cherry, timidly.
"Oh, I thought you said mother, my dear; I beg your pardon."
Cherry turned homewards, and the two comfortable servants went
down-stairs again.
"It 'ud be a charity to alter one of my dresses for her, that it would,"
said Jane; "no wonder, if she ain't got no mother. But how her poor
things was patched and mended; and how white her apron was. They're
clean people who belong to her, if they are poor."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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