On the way to the kitchen they met Sarah, the chambermaid, going upstairs to make the beds.
“Sarah,” said Mrs. Merton, “here is a little girl who is going to stay with me, and help about the house. You may take her upstairs, and show her how to help you make the beds.”
If Tom had been in her street costume, Sarah would have preferred to dispense with her assistance, but she looked quite civilized and respectable now, and she accepted the offer. Tom accompanied her upstairs to the second floor. The first chamber was that of Mr. Craven,—a gentleman in business down town. It was of course vacant, therefore.
“Now,” said Sarah, “do you know anything about making beds?”
“Then stand on one side, and I will tell you what to do.”
Tom followed directions pretty well, but, as the task was about finished, an impish freak seized her, and she caught the pillow and threw it at Sarah’s head, disarranging that young lady’s hair, and knocking out a comb.
“What’s that for?” demanded Sarah, angrily.
“It’s bully fun!” she said. “Throw it at me.”
“I’ll give you a shaking, you young imp,” said Sarah. “You’ve broke my comb.”
She picked up the comb, and dashed round the bed after Tom, who, seeing no other way for escape, sprang upon the bed, where she remained standing.
“I’ll tell the missis, just as sure as you live!”
This would not have checked Tom, but it occurred to her, all at once, that her freak would be reported to the captain, and might displease him.
“I’ll stop,” said she. “I was only in fun.”
By this time, Sarah had ascertained that the comb was not broken, after all, and this made her more inclined to overlook Tom’s offence.
She gave Tom further directions about the proper way of doing chamber-work, which Tom followed quite closely, being resolved apparently to turn over a new leaf. But her reformation was not thorough. She caught sight of Mr. Craven’s shaving materials, which he had carelessly left on the bureau, and before Sarah anticipated her intention, she had seized the brush and spread the lather over her cheeks.
“What are you doing, you little torment?” asked Sarah.
“I’m goin’ to shave,” said Tom. “It must feel funny.”
“Put that razor down!” said Sarah, approaching.
Tom brandished the razor playfully, in a manner that considerably startled the chamber-maid, who stopped short in alarm:—