Mehalah explained that she sought work, and hoped that the parson would be able to recommend her.
"You don't, you don't—" faltered he.
"You don't suppose I'd take you on here," said the parson's wife. "You're too young by twenty years. I don't approve of young women; they don't make good servants. I like a staid matronly person of forty to fifty, that one can trust, and won't be gadding after boys or—" she shook her suds at her husband. "But I don't at present want any servant. We are full."
"We don't keep any," said the pastor.
"Edward! don't demean us; we do keep servants—occasionally. You know we do, Edward. Mrs. Cutts comes in to scour out and clean up of a Saturday. You forget that. We pay her ninepence."
"Who are you, my dear—I mean, young woman?" asked the curate.
"Yes, who are you?" said his better half. "We must know more of you before we can recommend you among our friends. Our friends are very select, and keep quite a better sort of servants; they don't pick up anybody, they take so to speak the cream, the very purest quality."
Mehalah gave the required information. Mrs. Rabbit bridled and blew bubbles. The Reverend Mr. Rabbit became depressed, yet made an effort to be confidential. "You'd better—you'd better marry him," he hinted, "It would be a satisfaction on all sides."
"What is that? What did you say, Edward? No whisperings in my house, if you please. My house is respectable, I hope, though it mayn't be a lordly mansion. I do drive a conweyance," she said. "I hire the blacksmith's donkey-cart when I go out to make my calls, and drop my cards. So I leave you to infer if I'm not respectable. And Miss—Miss—Miss"—with a giggle and a curtsey, "when may I have the felicity of calling on you at Red Hall, and of learning how respectable that establishment has become? There's room for improvement," she said, tossing her nose.
At that moment a rush, a roar, an avalanche down the narrow stairs, steep as a ladder. In a heap came the whole fourteen, the oldest foremost, the youngest in the rear.
