'Don't you give a thought to that, Mr. Rymer,' she exclaimed. 'Why, it's a
pleasure to me, and it gives me something to do--it's good for my health.
Don't you worry. Think about your business, and leave me to look after the
house. It'll be all right.'
A week later Mrs. Rymer was in the way of recovery, and her husband went to
the City as usual. A servant had been engaged--a girl of sixteen, who knew
as much of housework as London girls of sixteen generally do; at all
events, she could carry coals and wash steps. But the mistress of the
house, it was evident, would for a long time be unable to do anything
whatever; the real maid-of-all-work was Miss Shepperson, who rose every
morning at six o'clock, and toiled in one way or another till weary
bedtime. If she left the house, it was to do needful shopping or to take
the children for a walk. Her reward was the admiration and gratitude of the
family; even little Minnie had been taught to say, at frequent intervals:
'I love Miss Shepperson because she is good!' The invalid behaved to her as
to a sister, and kissed her cheek morning and evening. Miss Shepperson's
name being Dora, the baby was to be so called, and, as a matter of course,
the godmother drew a sovereign from her small savings to buy little Miss
Dora a christening present.
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