MISTRESS AND SERVANT GIRL

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1511, 14 February 1901, Page 30

MISTRESS AND SERVANT GIRL

A lady correspondent .of the “Scotsman” writes an. amusing account of her experience with a new servant girl : I first- set eye on Mora on; a stormy November night some years ago.

I had been left in rather a helpless plight by my maid having to go home to nurse her mother. So when a kind friend told me slip, knew of a “perfect jewel” who would just suit me, I rose to the bait- like a hungry trout. Mora’s good qualities were enlarged cn. She was young and innocent, brought up in ye, decent country home in the ashing village of Lybster, a place equally noted for herring and gossip, as I afterwards discovered. She had never been to service before, and was for the first time launching out into public life. Being human, her virtues were too m!u<ch for me, and I eagerly orave my friend the shilling to engage her.

A loud knock announced the arrival of my “jewel,” and I hurried to the door to- let her in out. of the wild night. Her salutation was hopeful and cheering—‘‘A sa-y, are ye the; wummin who engaged me?”

I meekly answered) “Yes.” “My! but it’s a coo-rse nicht. A’m glad to get in the boose.”

On closer inspection I found Mora to be- a- high cheek-boned, rosy lass of eight - teen, with wispy black hair and sparkling eyes, which she used to good advantage. Her next remark was “My! but ye’ve plenty tinnies on. yer wa.’! But- never mind, A’ll keep them weel sccored. A’v© never been oot afore, but my sister is in service this twa- year, an’ to a minister, too ; but he's sivfu’ mean, she disna. get half meat. But they tell me ye Meyer lassies plenty, so A’m no- feered.” Next morning Mora was up betimes, and worked with plenty of vigour, if not with much skill. 1 showed her how to set- a. dinner, and explained, as I thought, clearly how to dish one. She looked so- bright and knowing that I felt confident and proud of my pupil ; and when sitting at. table with my husband, waiting for the soup to make its appearance, I enlarged on my new maid’s teachableness and prophesied greatthings for the future, when I polished my rough diamond a. little, bit. When I was still speaking the diningroom. door was violently banged open, and Mora, in a. state of smudge and breathlessness, was seen carrying the soup pan, hot from the fire, on my pet oak tray. “Ob. Mora, why didn’t, you put the soup in the tureen 1 gave you ?“ “La! mem, I didna ken what von. queer-shaped l bowl was for. I never seed broth in anything but. a pot afore.” I dished the dinner myself that day, amid congratulatory remarks from my better-half.

It took time and patience to; teach Mora- to answer a door and usher in a visitor. If the bell rang, she rushed to the door, wiping her grimy hands as she went- on her anything but snowy apron. The visitor was left standing at the door and: Mora- would yell un the stairs—

“A say, there’s a wummin at the door. It’s weelt. Will I pit her in the front room or tak’ her up till the best room ?” 7

After many blushes and painful experiences to: myself, Mora, learned the lesson of showing visitors into the drawingroom, and asking in a fine mincing English tone, “What name shawl 1 say, please?” And; with a beautiful meekness still about her, she would come to me and say, f ‘Please, mem, Mistress—l eouldna catch her names—’s in.” Mora never could catoh the name, but nothing - came amiss to: her, and with perfect gravity one afternoon she announced, “fit. Peter is in.” As I wasn’t expecting one of the Apostles, I felt rather mystified', till I discovered mv visitor was only the far less illustrious person of our joiner, Sam Peters, whom I

found in the r^jpo-om, looking anything but ahtsrome as he stood twirling his cap in his hands in the- middle of the floor.

Mora- never hit the golden mean, for not only were my usual visitors politely shown in, hut the lady who- collected my rabbit skins was. likewise privileged. I lived in constant dread of my few valuables disappearing with my visitors, and, indeed, I did lose a much-prised silver card tray ; but- nothing could make Moradistinguish. “Weel, mem,” she would declare, “I canna ken them, for gentry nere diiana dress like gentry. I’m. sure my Sawbath hat is- far bonnier wi’ yon. red flowers intilt than o-ny o’ the. ladies that cal’ oil ye.”

Her ideas of ladylike dress was a red hat, a blue blouse, and probably a green skirt.

Mora was equally successful with her shopping. I sent- her one day for some chocolates to the confectioner’s. She returned with, “They dinma keep ’at kind to’ stuff.” “Don’t keep them! What in the world did you ask for ?’ "A iiu-If a pun’ of meated chops.” Mora, Mora! no wonder-that is cut- of stock. But go-'y ergoaok and ask this time for mixed chocolates, and perhaps you’).! get them.” But I had a. greater shock to my nerves when, sent for lard, sue returned and said the grocer never heard, of such a thing. The usual question of- “ What did you ask for?” was put. “For a- pun’ o’ gawd.”’"' I myself was fairly nonplussed for a " moment, till I. remembered I had cheeked' her shortly after she- came to me for •using the common but profane phrase cf “Lord Gawd.” “It was lard I wanted- —lard, to bake with.” "Ob, wis’t ? ,1 kont it was some kind o’ swear ye wanted, but I couldnaminu what; an’ !. swithered if it was lard c-r gawd, an’ I t-hoeht- -gawd sooncled lik-esf the thing.” As time went on and. Mora, got- accustomed to town society she developed many artistic traits. She had a musical soul, end had -secret- yearnings after a piano. But that not - always being obtainable, she used such instruments as she could get.

One aft-s-rno-on she went cut to- the coal cellar ostensibly to- fill the scuttle, hut when three.-quarters of an hour h&u 'elapsed, and, still no sign of her return, I began to have- visions of nv poor maid in a. fit on the floor. So- trembling and with beating heart I hurried out. Before I reached the door, mysterious sotf.Ttds greeted me, and on looking in I beheld my precious Abigail, in .snowy cap and apron, sitting on my best brass coal scuttle, (and she was no light weight) drawing melodious strains from an old comb covered: with paper, her body swaving rhythmically to the supposed tuneHer art-loving nat-ure expanded still further as days 'went by. If I went out and loft Mora with unwashed! dinner dishes, when I returned' three hours later Mora and the dishes were still among the “great unwashed.” Mora, with every, a-ppearance of truth and; distress at my ignorance would solemnly assure me she had never “halted -a single meenit.”

The- secret- was accidentally discovered. I happened to have on a- pair of light list slippers, and after a visitor’s departure went to the kitchen with no thought of prying. Mora was squatted on her knees at a chair, her face smudged from brow to chin, her kitchen topsy-turvy, busily en-l ga-ged in ornamenting an old plate with! what was known then as “putty work.”! On seeing me she rose to- her feet witkl -a yell, and let her work of hours fall tl the ground) with disastrous results. I “Oh, mercy! oh, mercy 1 Fro no veell Ye’ve scared the life- oot c’ me.” Bui Mora recovered, and her scare had qujtfl a beneficial effefct on the dishes ever aj “putty work” was relega® ed to idle' hours.

Mora’s native love of gossip was t deep-seated ever to be eradicated, a 3 to send her a message did indeed me;

a “long farewell.” She could not res: speaking to ail and sundry j the hou: hold arrangements were minutely c

scribed 1 and enlarged -on, and so anxi*

was she .to* be able to* .give an accu:

account of our sayings and doings t-ha more than once came oh her with <

tLued to the keyhole. Indeed, my husand used to declare that’ the reason Mora so' often suffered from cold in the eyes was they were' so often exposed to the draught of our keyhole. But that was slander, of course. Mora mlust have suffered from the dread of drowning, from the great aversion she showed to water. Once when she was really unwell and suffering troni a chill, I used, all my powers of argument to> induce her to have a hot bath. . “Tak’ a bath! I never wis in a bath a’ aia days; it wid be the deith o’ me.” And nothing would, persuade her that a bath was not equivalent to attempting suicide. To wash one’s face, and even, one’s neck, was, well, not .so 'unreasonable. But a, bath!

A, distinguished professor says that wind is called stupidity is simply the iadicatiou that a certain brain, area is not properly nourished, or is* without communication with the nerve fibre. The United States buy ■Siß.3oo,ooo' worth of coffee a year, but only £2,Patqi>oo worth of tea- Britain, on the other hand, uses but =83,778,000 "worth of coffee, but buys .-£10,240,000' worth of tea.