Chapter V: Ups and Downs

"THAT'S well! Now I shall be all right after a good night's sleep," Mr. Eyre said, when assured that the unlucky letter was safely posted.

But unfortunately he did not get a good night's sleep—or any sleep at all—for he began to shiver and shake so much that Mrs. Eyre called Hetty, and sent her for Dr. Haddon. And so far from being "all right" in the morning, he was so ill that Hetty was sent with a note to Miller & Cartwright, to say that he could by no means go to his business that day.

Mr. Eyre was ill for three weeks, and it was a sharp attack. He was never in actual danger, but his wife thought he was, and her misery was great. It was now that she found the comfort of having a tender-hearted, sympathizing girl like Hetty to help her, instead of being dependent on old Mrs. Goodenough, who, though an honest, hardworking woman, was so far from feeling for others, that she never once offered to stay five minutes beyond her usual time, or to do anything but her usual work, during the whole three weeks of anxiety.

But Hetty was very helpful, never once relapsing into carelessness. She kept the children quiet, made beef-tea and cooling drinks, took Lina to school, carried Flo up and down the terrace, nursed the baby, and constantly assured her mistress that "Master wasn't nearly as bad as Mrs. Clarke's Ben, so that he would certainly get well. Ben got well, though he was prayed for in church," she added triumphantly.

Flora, too, behaved very well. She lay there uncomplainingly, neither asking to be amused, nor making a fuss about anything. She and Zelica kept each other company. Zelica was "a real comfort," the old-fashioned little body informed the doctor.

And baby was excellent. But I am sorry to say that Lina and Edgar were exceedingly troublesome until Mrs. Eyre gave them both a good whipping, after which they began to consider their ways.

At last—it was not really so very long, but it seemed long to all concerned—at last came the happy day when papa could come down into the parlour—very weak and pale, and very glad to sink into his arm-chair, after the great exertion of coming downstairs, supported by his wife on one side and the banisters on the other.

"There, Hetty!" cried the little woman joyfully. "You see, you were right, and he is going to get well, after all."

"And I don't know what we should have done without you, Hetty," added Mr. Eyre. "You have been such a comfort to your mistress in every way."

Of course Hetty began to cry. Whether praised or blamed, Hetty generally cried. "Oh, sir," she said, "I do wish mother could hear that."

"So she shall," said Mrs. Eyre. "I shall certainly tell her. You have been the greatest comfort and help to me."

"And so has Zelica been to me," remarked Flo, which made them all laugh; and Hetty ran off to the kitchen to get tea ready, so uplifted in heart that she had to sing the whole of "God save the Queen" to relieve herself.

Mrs. Hardy herself brought home the clothes on Saturday, and Mrs. Eyre called her into the parlour, and there, with Hetty standing by as red as a peony, she told her how well the girl had behaved.

Mrs. Hardy was pleased, though it was against her principles to show it. She laughed, and said, "Oh, Hetty was always good at a pinch. I wonder now what outrageous thing she'll do to make up for lost time."

"Come, now, you are too hard upon her," said Mr. Eyre.

"I don't mean to be, sir. I warned the mistress here not to be praising her. Her head don't stand it, ma'am, and so you'll find. But I'm very glad she was serviceable to you, though it's no more than her duty, and so we'll say no more about it."

But she told Matty that she really believed that Hetty was going to behave like other people, she was so improved.

Yet I must confess that I do not think that Hetty was really improved. She was a good girl, very truthful and honest, very kind-hearted and affectionate, anxious to do right when she gave herself the trouble to think about it. The misfortune was, that she often did not think, nor had she yet learned that it was wrong to be so heedless. It gave her no trouble, but came quite natural to her, to be very sorry for others when in sorrow or anxiety, and to help them with all her heart. She was not heedless then, because her feelings were touched, and her mind was full of plans to be of use. When she had done a careless thing she was very sorry, quite ready to own to it, and to cry over it; but all this, only if her heedlessness had caused mischief and annoyance. She did twenty careless things for which she never was sorry, because no great harm came of them. In fact, she acted on impulse, not on principle; and being fortunately a good girl, her impulses were mostly good; but she had yet to learn self-control.

She had yet to learn that a Christian must bring conscience to bear upon every action of life, small as well as great. And as to seriously repenting of her fault, and praying to be cured of it, she was so far from this, that she hardly knew it for a fault at all, but called it a misfortune, and had quite forgotten Matty's little sermon to her on the day she left home.

She loved her mistress and Miss Flora very sincerely, and was capable of doing much to please either them or her master; but though it is well to love our fellow creatures, and all love is the gift of God, yet only the love of God, filling our hearts with an ardent desire to please Him, can so fill these hearts of ours as to drive out carelessness, thoughtlessness, or any other sin. Still, Hetty was one of God's dear children, thoughtless as she still was; and if she would not learn the mild lessons He was giving her now, we may be sure that some lesson of a more severe nature would be sent to her. For He loves His children, and will have them learn to think more of pleasing Him than of anything else.

Mrs. Eyre, however, thought, naturally enough, that Hetty had left off her heedless ways, and was therefore a little disappointed when, on coming home from an expedition to Messrs. Miller & Cartwright's, whither her husband had sent her, she perceived a very unpleasant smell in the hall.

"Oh, Hetty, what a horrid smell! What is it?"

"Indeed, ma'am, it is the small tin kettle. Mrs. Goodenough had not filled it, and I thought she had, and put it on, wanting some hot water. But it was empty, and it got all red, and there is a great hole in it. I am very sorry, ma'am."

"But do you mean the tea-kettle? Mrs. Goodenough never fills that. I like to fill it with fresh water when I am going to make the tea."

"Yes, ma'am. But I never thought of that."

"And I have told you not to use that kettle, you know, except for making tea."

"Yes, ma'am. But I forgot. I'm very sorry."

Mrs. Eyre's interview with her husband's employers had been a trying one, and she was feeling low and tired. It is not easy to be quite patient when one is feeling thus, so it was with less than her usual gentleness that she said,—

"If you minded what I say to you, you would not have spoiled my nice little kettle. I hope you have water boiling to make tea, for I am very tired and thirsty."

"Yes, ma'am—at least, it will boil soon. I did not think of it at first."

"Well, I'll come down as soon as I have given your master a message I have for him."

She went into the parlour, where Mr. Eyre, Flo and Zelica, were keeping each other company.

It was half an hour or so before Mrs. Eyre came down to the kitchen. Hetty had the tea-tray ready and the kettle boiling; but, alas! when Mrs. Eyre glanced at the said kettle, she perceived that it was her pretty little bronze one, which certainly never was meant to be put on the fire; and the round cover of the stove was off, the poor little kettle being well thrust down among the coals.

"Oh, Hetty, you really are too provoking!" she cried. "To use the bronze kettle! It never was meant to go on the fire! It was one of my wedding presents, and I would not have had it spoiled for anything! Surely there are plenty of common kettles."

"I'm very sorry, ma'am," began Hetty; but poor, tired, worried Mrs. Eyre replied sharply,—

"Where is the use of being sorry, if you go from one careless thing to another? There, I've made the tea. I shall come down for the tray in five minutes. Pour the water out of that kettle. Hetty, do use your eyes; don't you see that this one is full? Pour it away down the sink. Now clean the kettle thoroughly; don't leave off until you have it perfectly clean."

She walked to the door, but paused there to say, "You have seen Mrs. Goodenough cleaning it; are you sure you know what to use?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Hetty tearfully.

When Mrs. Eyre came for the tea-tray, she saw Hetty rubbing away with great vigour, crying all the time. Being really provoked, she did not speak, but took up her tray and walked off. Tea over, she told Lina to call Hetty to come for the tray, for she was really very tired. Hetty came, bringing with her the unfortunate kettle, bronze no longer. For "Heedless Hetty" had used Bath brick, instead of the proper powder, and her strong young arms enabling her to rub powerfully, she had rubbed off every morsel of bronze, and the kettle was now bright brass.

"There, ma'am, see how bright I have made it!" Hetty said.

Mr. Eyre looked up from his book, saw the kettle, saw, too, his wife's face of horror. He burst out laughing, and, after a moment, Mrs. Eyre laughed too.

"Bright, certainly, Hetty; but I'm afraid it won't match its stand any more. What have you done to it?"

"Oh dear!" cried Hetty. "If I haven't Bath-bricked it! Oh, ma'am, I am—"

"Very sorry," put in Mr. Eyre. "Ah, Hetty, I wish you'd use your brains—you have brains, you know. Never mind, Celia, I will get the kettle bronzed again—when I can."

And he sighed; whereon Flo called out,—

"Papa, come here, please. Give me a kiss. Dear papa," with her little arms round his neck, "do not be sorry; I don't like to see you so."

Hetty, much subdued, went away with the tray and the luckless kettle. The foolish girl thought that her master's sigh was caused by the kettle's change of complexion, but poor Mr. Eyre had more serious cause for sighing than that.

He had been ill for three weeks, and it would be some time before he was fit to go to his work again. The doctor's bill was a large one, for some of the medicines had been expensive, and he had now to take beef-tea, nourishing food, and a little wine; and all this costs money. He had sent his wife to Mr. Cartwright, the managing partner, to find out if he would advance him a portion of his salary; but Mr. Cartwright refused, on the ground that it was not the rule of the house, and would be a bad precedent.

"I had some difficulty," he said, "in getting any one to fill Eyre's place, and of course the salary goes to the man who is doing the work. The sooner Eyre gets back to his desk the better for all parties," remarked fat, prosperous Mr. Cartwright, playing with his watch-chain, and smiling in a superior manner at the poor, anxious little woman.

"But, sir, we are—"

"Short of money, eh? Ah, yes; I told Eyre how it would be when he married—absurd, you know, to marry so young. If he don't like our rules, I daresay the gentleman who fills his place would be very glad to remain permanently."

"My husband will return to his work as soon as he possibly can," said Mrs. Eyre. "Good-evening, sir."

It was plain that to urge her request might prove worse than useless. She softened the story as much as possible when telling her husband; but it was not a cheering story at the best.

The Eyres certainly had married young, and Flo's ill health had been an expense to them. Still, Mrs. Eyre was a good manager, and they had kept out of debt, and had even saved a very few pounds. The little hoard paid the doctor, and this left a very tiny sum to carry them on until Mr. Eyre could claim a month's salary.

No wonder he sighed and she looked grave; her head was full of plans for lessening her expenditure; and poor Hetty, polishing the cups and saucers until they shone again, and shedding plenteous tears over the sorely changed kettle, little thought what far greater cause for weeping she was about to have.