and my house-shoes, and there I stayed in the middle of the road . . . staring. People must have laughed if they saw me. . . .
. . . Goodness gracious!—What’s that? It’s the clock striking! And here I’ve been keeping you awake. Oh, madam, you ought to have stopped me. . . . Can I tuck in your feet? I always tuck in my lady’s feet, every night, just the same. And she says, “Good night, Ellen. Sleep sound and wake early!” I don’t know what I should do if she didn’t say that, now.
. . . Oh dear, I sometimes think . . . whatever should I do if anything were to . . . But, there, thinking’s no good to anyone—is it, madam? Thinking won’t help. Not that I do it often. And if ever I do I pull myself up sharp, “Now then, Ellen. At it again—you silly girl! If you can’t find anything better to do than to start thinking! . . .”
Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner, Frome and London 276
