ith the whole burden of a house on her shoulders, who has never found
the two ends more than just meet, cannot spare time or thought to train
her girls systematically. It is so much easier to do the whole of the
work herself. Bessie's usefulness, such as it is, speaks a deal for her
disposition. After all, how many women in any station of life, have
precision and forethought enough to lay a fire so that it will burn up
at once? Bessie is only thirteen. It is, indeed, her ability for her
age that tempts one to judge her by a standard which elsewhere--except
among women discussing their servants--would only be applied to a girl
of twenty.

Suppose fathers judged their daughters as mothers judge their
servants....

[Sidenote: _GOING INTO SERVICE_]

For the present, Bessie is in daily service at a lodging-house. For a
'gen'leman's residence,' which would be better for her, she is
over-young and would, besides, need an outfit of dresses, caps and
aprons which she is not yet old enough to take care of, nor will be
until she is ready to fall in love. She can go to Mrs Butler's in a
torn dress and dirty pinafore. She is not expected to appear before the
visitors; only to do the dirty, rough, and heavy work behind the
scenes. It was a condition of her leaving school so young, that she
should go into service and sleep there. Very naturally, Mrs Widger and
Mrs Butler soon arranged that the 'education lady,' when she came to
inspect, should be shown Bessie's bedroom at the lodging-house--and
that Bessie should sleep at home. It was better for all three; for Mrs
Butler who is short of room, for Mrs Widger who wants Bessie's help,
and for Bessie who still requires her mother's authority and oversight.
Educationalists don't seem to understand.

In return for two shillings a week and her food, Bessie is supposed to
work twelve hours a day, from eight till eight. All she does might
possibly be crammed into three hours a day; that is all she is paid
for. She brings home her supper in a piece of newspaper. One evening
she brought some chicken bones which had been in turn the foundation of
roast chicken, cold chicken, stewed chicken, and soup. Bessie rather
enjoyed them. Another evening, she unwrapped a whole cake. It fell on
the floor, whack! neither bouncing, nor breaking. It was full of dough.
A basin of soup-dregs which she brought home two days ago was found to
contain a length of stewed string. Stewed to rags, it was, like badly