"A general, that’s what she is if there’s no more kep’. You won’t get no cook-’ousekeeper unless she’s to ’ave ’er meals along with you, and a little girl to do the rough work." "She can’t possibly have her meals with me," cried Mr. Wycherly, crimson at the very thought. "It would be most unpleasant—for both of us." "Then as I said it’s a general you wants." "And have you upon your books any staid and respectable young woman—preferably an orphan—" Mr. Wycherly interpolated, remembering Montagu’s suggestion, "who could come to us at once?" "Not, so to speak, to-day, I ’aven’t; but they often comes in of a Monday, and I’ll let you know. I could send ’er along; it isn’t far." The ledger was shut with a bang as an intimation that the interview was at an end, and Mr. Wycherly fared forth into the street with heated brow and a sense that, in spite of his heroism in braving so dreadful a person, he was not much further on his quest. "Monday, she said," he kept repeating to himself, "and to-day is only Thursday." When he got back to Holywell, the boys were standing at the front door on the lookout for him. They rushed towards him exclaiming in delighted chorus: "We’ve got a woman. We thought we’d ask at the King’s Arms, and they told us of one." "What? A servant?" asked Mr. Wycherly with incredulous joy. "No, no, a day-body. The boots knew about her; she lives down Hell Lane, just about opposite." "Edmund!" Mr. Wycherly remonstrated. "However did you get hold of that name?" "Hoots!" replied Edmund. "Everyone calls it that. Her name is Griffin, and she’s coming at once. Have _you_ got one?" "No," said Mr. Wycherly, "not yet. Boys, it’s a most bewildering search. Can either of you tell me since when maid-servants have taken to call themselves after officers in the army? The rather alarming person in charge of that office informs me that what we require is a ’general.’ Do you suppose that if we should need a younger maid to help her we must ask for a ’sub-lieutenant’?" "Perhaps they are called generals when they’re old," said Montagu thoughtfully; "at that rate we ought to call Mrs. Griffin a field-marshal. She’s pretty old, I can tell you, but she’s most agreeable." "Probably," said Mr. Wycherly, "in time to come they will get tired of the army and take to the nomenclature of the Universities. Then we shall have provosts and deans and wardens. But I’m glad that you have been more successful than I have. I’ve no doubt we can manage with Mrs. Griffin until we get a maid of our own." "I think it was mean of that body with the mother," said Edmund; "she didn’t even say she’d come as soon as she could. But I think the Griffin will be fun, and if she can’t do it all we’ll get the Mock-Turtle to help her." "Was it very high-class, that registry?" he continued; "it didn’t look at all grand outside."