As soon as I was alone I stole into the kitchen to ask for a duster. "Don't bother me; can't you see I'm making toast?" was my greeting. I could see she was making toast, and my attention was further called to it by the sharp ringing of a bell. "Ah, ring away," said the woman, going on with her task. "You may ring the bell down, and then I shan't come till the toast's done, do now then!" "Please, Mary, is the--" I turned upon hearing the pleasant little voice again, which stopped short as I looked round, and our eyes met once more. "No, Miss Hetty, my dear, the toast ain't done," said the woman more softly; "and you may tell your ma that if she is in a hurry she must wait till her hurry's over." "Don't be cross, Mary," said the child; and tripping across the kitchen, she ran up to where the woman was kneeling before the fender, kissed her cheek, and tripped out again. "They may thank her for it, that they may," grumbled Mary, as if speaking to the fire, "for if it wasn't for her I wouldn't stop a day longer in their nasty, disagreeable old house. There!" The toast was by this time done, and Mary was scraping away at a burnt spot, when the bell began to ring more violently than before, with the result that, instead of running off with the toast, Mary deliberately placed it upon the fender and went across to one of the dresser drawers, out of which she took a clean duster. "Ring away!" she grumbled. "There's a duster for you, boy. And look here; you must be hungry. Stop a minute and I'll cut you a slice. Ah, ring away! You don't frighten me." To my horror, she coolly spread thickly a slice of bread, cut it, and handed it to me before buttering the toast with which she at last crawled out of the kitchen, while I literally fled to the office, laid the bread and butter on the desk, and stopped to listen. At the end of half an hour the bell rang again, and soon after Mary came sulkily into the office with a mug of half-cold weak tea and some lumps, not slices, of bread and butter. These she thrust before me, and I was sadly making my breakfast when Mr Blakeford entered the place. "Come, make haste!" he said sharply; and as I glanced up at him I read in his face that for some reason or another he had taken a great dislike to me. I could not tell then, nor did I know for long afterwards, why this was; but it grew more evident hour by hour that he hated the sight of my anxious young face, and that my sojourn with him was to be far from pleasant. He took his seat at the table while I tried to finish my breakfast, but his coming had completely taken away my appetite, and at the end of a few minutes I hastened to take the mug and plate to the kitchen, and then returned to the office. "Now, sir," Mr Blakeford began, "just look here. Your father owed me a large sum of money when he died, and I have taken you on here quite out of compassion. Do you hear?" "Yes, sir," I faltered.