don't say so, Miss Timmins," said Ellen, "I don't wish so, indeed."
"Well, I should think you would," said Timmins. "I should think you'd be fit to poison her;—I should, I know, if I was in your place."
"Oh no," said Ellen, "that wouldn't be right; that would be very wrong."
"Wrong!" said Timmins—"why would it be wrong? she hasn't behaved good to you."
"Yes," said Ellen, "but don't you know the Bible says if we do not forgive people what they do to us, we shall not be forgiven ourselves?"
"Well, I declare!" said Miss Timmins, "you beat all! But here's the Eagle at last, and I am glad for your sake, dear."
Ellen was shown into the ladies' parlour. She was longing for a place to rest, but she saw directly it was not to be there. The room was large, and barely furnished; and round it were scattered part of the carriage-load of people that had arrived a quarter of an hour before her. They were waiting till their rooms should be ready. Ellen silently found herself a chair and sat down to wait with the rest, as patiently as she might. Few of them had as much cause for impatience; but she was the only perfectly mute and uncomplaining one there. Her two companions, however, between them, fully made up her share of fretting. At length a servant brought the welcome news that their room was ready, and the three marched upstairs. It made Ellen's very heart glad when they got there, to find a good-sized, cheerful-looking bed-room, comfortably furnished, with a bright fire burning, large curtains let down to the floor, and a nice warm carpet upon it. Taking off her bonnet, and only that, she sat down on a low cushion by the corner of the fire-place, and leaning her head against the jamb, fell fast asleep almost immediately. Mrs. Dunscombe set about arranging herself for the tea-table.
"Well!" she said, "one day of this precious journey is over!"
"Does Ellen go with us to-morrow, mamma?"
"Oh yes!—quite to Thirlwall."
"Well, you haven't had much plague with her to-day, mamma."
"No—I am sure I am much obliged to whoever has kept her out of my way."
"Where is she going to sleep to-night?" asked Miss Margaret.
"I don't know, I am sure. I suppose I shall have to have a cot brought in here for her."
"What a plague!" said Miss Margaret. "It will lumber up the room so! There's no place to put it. Couldn't she sleep with Timmins?"
"Oh, she could, of course—just as well as not, only people would make such a fuss about it!—it wouldn't do;—we must bear it for once. I'll try and not be caught in such a scrape again."
"How provoking!" said Miss Margaret. "How came father to do so without asking you about it?"
"Oh, he was bewitched, I suppose—men always are. Look here, Margaret, I can't go down to tea with a train of children at my heels. I shall leave you and Ellen up here, and I'll send up your tea to you."
"Oh no, mamma!" said Margaret eagerly; "I want to go down with you. Look here, mamma! she's asleep, and you needn't wake her up—that's excuse enough. You can leave her to have tea up here, and let me go down with you."
"Well," said Mrs. Dunscombe, "I don't care; but make haste to get ready, for I expect every minute the tea-bell will ring."
"Timmins! Timmins!" cried Margaret, "come here and fix me—quick! and step softly, will you? or you'll wake that young one up, and then, you see, I shall have to stay upstairs."
This did not happen, however; Ellen's sleep was much too deep to be easily disturbed. The tea-bell itself, loud and shrill as it was, did not even make her eyelids tremble. After Mrs. and Miss Dunscombe were gone down, Timmins employed herself a little while in putting all things about the room to rights, and then sat down to take her rest, dividing her attention between the fire and Ellen, towards whom she seemed to feel more and more kindness, as she saw that she was likely to receive it from no one else. Presently came a knock at the door—"The tea for the young lady," on a waiter. Miss Timmins silently took the tray from the man and shut the door. "Well!" said she to herself, "if that ain't a pretty supper to send up to a child that has gone two hundred miles to-day and had no breakfast—a cup of tea, cold enough I'll warrant, bread and butter enough for a bird, and two little slices of ham as thick as a wafer! Well, I just wish Mrs. Dunscombe had to eat it herself, and nothing else! I'm not going to wake her up for that, I know, till I see whether something better ain't to be had for love or money. So just you sleep on, darling, till I see what I can do for you."
In great indignation downstairs went Miss Timmins, and at the foot of the stairs she met a rosy-cheeked, pleasant-faced girl coming up.
"Are you the chambermaid?" said Timmins.
"I'm one of the chambermaids," said the girl, smiling; "there's three of us in this house, dear."
"Well, I am a stranger here," said Timmins; "but I want you to help me, and I am sure you will. I've got a dear little girl upstairs that I want some supper for; she's a sweet child, and she's under the care of some proud folks here in the tea-room that think it too much trouble to look at her, and they've sent her up about supper enough for a mouse—and she's half-starving; she lost her breakfast this morning by their ugliness. Now ask one of the waiters to give me something nice for her, will you?—there's a good girl."
"James!" said the girl in a loud whisper to one of the waiters who was crossing the hall. He instantly stopped and came towards them, tray in hand, and making several extra polite bows as he drew near.
"What's on the supper-table, James?" said the smiling damsel.
"Everything that ought to be there, Miss Johns," said the man, with another flourish.
"Come, stop your nonsense," said the girl, "and tell me quick; I'm in a hurry."
"It's a pleasure to perform your commands, Miss Johns. I'll give you the whole bill of fare. There's a very fine beefsteak, fricasseed chickens, stewed oysters, sliced ham, cheese, preserved quinces—with the usual complement of bread and toast and muffins, and doughnuts, and new-year cake, and plenty of butter, likewise salt and pepper, likewise tea and coffee and sugar, likewise——"
"Hush!" said the girl. "Do stop, will you?" and then laughing and turning to Miss Timmins, she added, "What will you have?"
"I guess I'll have some of the chickens and oysters," said Timmins; "that will be the nicest for her, and a muffin or two."
"Now, James, do you hear?" said the chambermaid; "I want you to get me now, right away, a nice little supper of chickens and oysters and a muffin—it's for a lady upstairs. Be as quick as you can."
"I should be very happy to execute impossibilities for you, Miss Johns; but Mrs. Custers is at the table herself."
"Very well—that's nothing; she'll think it's for somebody upstairs—and so it is."
"Ay, but the upstairs people is Tim's business—I should be hauled over the coals directly."
"Then ask Tim, will you? How slow you are! Now, James, if you don't I won't speak to you again."
"Till to-morrow? I couldn't stand that. It shall be done, Miss Johns, instantum."
Bowing and smiling,
