Tom and Anne were as devoted as I was to Miss Mathers. Of course Anne never became a gentlewoman, but she learned to sew, and to write without inking her fingers, not to come into a room head first and feet last nor to trail a vanishing hand across the door before she shut it; not to giggle, not to finger the spoons and forks before the next dish came in, not to sit still when she ought to stand up, not to frown and show her teeth in the sun, not to fall into habits of speech, and--most valuable and delightful accomplishment--not to argue about anything that had to be done. Tom said Miss Mathers was very restful because she saved them so much trouble. He explained that so long as there was any chance of altering an order by discussion it would be unsporting not to have a shot at it, but the argument was, on the whole, more fatiguing than it was worth, even to gain a slight concession. I do not know whether she returned our affection, but when she left because Anne grew up, she said she did not intend to teach any more. It was very up-hill work in the present state of affairs. Parents of breeding were dying out, and modern education appeared to become daily more medical and less moral. She could never acquire the requisite knowledge for turning out a child’s stomach to examine its character. She should, therefore, retire and live with her brother, who really needed a lady to look after him. _CHAPTER X_: THE CHARWOMAN Two-and-sixpence a day is what it costs me to have the pleasure of Mrs. Muff’s society. She came at half-past eight and began at once on a bit of breakfast. “I beg pardon, m’m,” said Ruth, when Mrs. Muff had been with us for a week (she came on Mondays and Tuesdays and did the rough washing), “but do I understand that Mrs. Muff is to have anything special ordered in for her breakfast?” “It depends,” I said. “Is a charwoman fed on special food like a gold-fish? Won’t she thrive unless we give her ant’s eggs or boiled Indian meal?” “I couldn’t say, I’m sure, m’m.” Ruth glanced angrily in the direction of the washhouse where Mrs. Muff was urging us in quavering tones to abide with her. “She had an egg this morning like the rest of us, but she said she wouldn’t be responsible if it happened again, as they always disagreed with her.” “Ah, but these are fresh ones,” I said. “Did you explain it to her? Perhaps she had never tried them before; it makes all the difference.” Ruth suggested that I had better speak to her myself, so I gathered up my skirts and “webbed it,” as an elegant friend of mine puts it, over the wet floor to Mrs. Muff and touched her on the shoulder. “Good morning, Mrs. Muff,” I shouted. The song ceased. An amiable little cherry face with a sharp nose, vegetable eyes, and four teeth, by no means whole, whisked round upon me out of the steam. “I can only abide with you for a minute, dear Mrs. Muff,” I bawled, “but I came to ask whether you had everything you wanted.”