T wasna to be expected that ony humane ear would hear ma first knock, and after what seemed like three weeks I took hold o' the knocker again. But it slipped frae ma fingers and made sich a bang, I near drapped on the door-step in a swoon. As long as I live on this testerial globe, I'll never see a green door without rememberin' ma arrival at "Seaview."
I was still decomposed when the door was opened by a young man in his shirt-sleeves, which was white. He was a tall chap, but unco thin, and his face was awfu' pale after the porter's rubikind mug.
"Guid evenin'," says he in a soft voice. "Was the train late?"
But I was past speechifyfin', and maybe he seen that something was wrong, for says he—pintin' up a long blue passage:—
"Mrs. Parkins is in the kitchen—last door on the left. I'll look after your trunk."
Wi' a sinkin' feelin' I gaed up the passage. Suddenly I felt a terrible nice smell of guid things cookin'. It seemed to revive ma droopin' spirits, but no' for long. Next moment I was standin' tremlin' jist inside the last door on the left.
It was a big, braw kitchen, though no' as tidy as ma mither's; but there was a reason for that. A lady—oh, I could see that she was a lady right enough—-was at the table, wi' a white apron on her, as busy as could be. She wasna really near as large as she looked to me then. She would be forty or fifty, maybe; her hair was beginnin' to turn gray. I daresay she had been bonny in her youth. Noo her face was weariedlike.
She was gently stirrin' something in a bowl, and she didna lift her eyes.
"So you've come at last!" she says. "What delayed you?"
I tried to speak, but jist let oot a squeak.
Then she looked at me.
"Gracious heavens!" she cries. "Who on earth are you?"
I managed to reply: "Hoose-table-maid, mem."
"You!" says she, drappin' the spoon wi' a splash. "You are not the girl I engaged last week! What's your name?"
"Jemima, mem."
"Is that all?"
"Just."
"Just Jemima? Absurd!"
"Jemima Just, mem," says I.
"Oh," says she, "I remember! But I engaged a Jessie Just. Why are you here?"
I think she must ha'e liked the look o' me, for she wasna as cross as she might ha'e been, and so I managed to tell ma story.
"It was this way, mem," says I. "Ma sister Jessie intended for to keep her bargain, but yesterday her young man got leave unexpectedlike, and dear knows when she would get another chance, and so they got married this mornin'"
"She might at least have sent me word," says Mrs. Parkins.
"Weel, mem, her and me cam' to the conclusion that one deed was better nor a heap o' words, and I was keen to see life, and betwixt us we persuaded fayther and mither, and so" I stopped, for I couldna get ony further.
"But you're a mere child," she says. "How old are you?"
"I'll sune be three and twinty," I says, lookin' at the bowl.
"Oh, nonsense! Come, come, tell the truth!"
"I'm in ma eighteenth year, mem."
"When were you seventeen?"
"Last week, mem."
"And why did you say you would soon be twenty-three?"
"Time flies, mem."
She wagged her head sorrowful-like. At last she says:—
"You can't have had any experience."
I was sort o' ready for her this time.
"I've been brought up terrible strict, and I've aye helped ma mither in the hoose, and I'm rael quick at the uptak'. I never need to be told a thing twice; I can repeat the 119th Psalm without stoppin', except for breath; an' I'm maist economic. And, of course, I would never expect ma sister's wage."
At that she shut her mouth close, and then she took up the spoon and stirred for a while, and then she stopped and gi'ed a guid look up and doon.
"Do you happen to have any friends in this neighbourhood?"
"No' even what ye might ca' a bowin' acquaintance," says I, which was maybe no' quite fair to the porter.
"Well," she says, "since you can't get home to-night, I suppose you must stay here. Perhaps I may give you a trial."
"Hurray! I'm ready!" I cries afore I kent what I was sayin'. I was that excited, I tore off ma hat, and brought doon ma hair, which had scarcely got used to bein' up. Luckily it's no' bad hair, bein' chestnut, wi' a natural wave, and as thick as thick.
"Come, Jemima," she says, as if she hadna noticed onything, "and I'll show you your room." And a nice wee room it was. "Get changed as quickly as you can," says she.
"Yes, mem," says I. "Wrapper or black dress?" Ye see, I was prepared for onything, for Mither and me had sat up near a' nicht, alterin Jessie's things to fit me. Fortunately Jessie's the stout one.
"Black," says she. "We dine at 7:300."
