I was
like a little servant."
I remind her of her promise to forgo work and to be a little social,
and, after another rub or two, she wrings out the sopping cloth, lets it
drop on the hearthstone, and then, backing once more to the stool, leans
back and smiles at me, with her wet hands folded in her lap.
* * * * *
"The fam'ly where my sister lived in the country," she says, taking up
her tale, "was a large family--five or six sons there was--sich nice
fellers they were! But--ain't it strange?--I never see any think on 'em
now though they come reggeler to London Bridge every day of their lives,
they do. They was Roman Cawtholic--boys and girls alike; but, for all
that, they was good-livin' people, and they was religious in their own
way. And one day a week comes the priest, and that day me and my sister
wasn't allowed to enter the dinin'-room all the mornin', where the
breakfast things was and where the priest was what he useter call
confessin' the young ladies of their sins and givin' 'em what he called
absolution, summat like that, for all they'd been doin' wrong since last
time. Oh my! You never knew such goings on, not in England, you didn't.
But mind, they was good-livin' people. They was Cawtholics, and they
give me two shillin's a week; and I was like a little servant.
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