Her parents were for letting well alone. "All the extra money you can get, Sally, won't amount to much," her mother said, and her father urged her to wait for Tom's letter. Who knew that Tom might not be sending money to take them all away to the new country? But Sally was positive, according to her impulsive nature. She was now nearly 18, she said, and was sure she could earn more. "Besides, mother," she added, "I want to better myself. I am learning nothing where I am, and never will, and I hate messing about with so many children. They ought to keep a nurse, but they can't afford it, missis says; and I'm sure I'm nothing but a slave. Why should you object?" Why, indeed. There were no good grounds for it in her eyes, and none tangible to her parents. The result, therefore, was that Sally sought and found a new place. CHAPTER VIII. INTRODUCES THE READER TO VERY ARISTOCRATIC COMPANY. It so happened that what servants call "a good place" was not so difficult to find when Sally went to seek it, as it had been some years before. The growing wealth of a portion of the nation was telling every year with increased force on the demand for domestic servants; and at the same time manufacturers were everywhere drawing more and more of the female population into employments in the great industrial centres of the Midlands. In any case, therefore, Sally Wanless would probably soon have found a place of some kind in a gentleman's family; but, unknown to herself, her good looks had already been working in her behalf. She had attracted the attention of the housekeeper at the Grange one day that the two had chanced to meet in a grocer's shop in Warwick. When Sally went out the housekeeper asked after her, and told the grocer that she was just in want of "a still-room maid," whatever that may be. The grocer gave Sally a good character as far as he knew her, and said further that he believed the girl wanted a new place. What the housekeeper heard elsewhere also pleased her; and in due time Sally was engaged at the, to her, fabulous wages of L10 per annum. Perhaps, had Lady Harriet Wiseman known that the pretty girl who thus entered her house in the humble capacity of still-room maid, was the daughter of "that seditious old poaching scamp, Wanless," as the squires called Sally's father, she might have vetoed her housekeeper's action. But that finely-distilled aristocrat did not condescend to notice such trivial matters as the coming and going of menials. She barely knew the names of some of the oldest servants about the place, and when she had occasion to speak to any of them--a thing she avoided as much as possible--gave all alike the name of Jane. She viewed her domestic world from afar. She was of the gods, and her menials were of the sons and daughters of men. To her their lives were unknown; of their hopes and feelings she knew less than she did of the varied dispositions of her dogs. They were