"NO, I won't put up with it; there are plenty of places for a girl now-a-days, and I don't see why I should be expected to bear with people's tempers and never speak up for myself."

"Now, Lizzie, be reasonable. Perhaps there are more places to be had, but a girl never does any good for herself who is always changing." And as she spoke, Mrs. Betts took another hot iron down from the fire, and recommenced smoothing out the shirt that was spread on the board before her.

"But, Mother, why should I have to put up with people's crossness?" demanded the girl in an imperative tone.

"We all have something to put up with, Lizzie. Do you think it's pleasant for me to have to take in washing, just to make ends meet, because your father's work is so bad just now?"

The girl cast her eyes carelessly upon the fine white shirt her mother was ironing.

"I shouldn't mind doing that," she said; then all in a minute she started up alert and eager. "Oh! Mother, that's just the very thing; why shouldn't I come home and help you with the washing and ironing?" she exclaimed.

"Because I couldn't afford it, my girl," said her mother quietly.

"But you could get a bit more work—another family's washing, and then you could manage, Mother," said Lizzie in the same eager tone. She wondered she had not thought of it before; but now this way of escape from the necessity of going to service had occurred to her, she was not going to let it slip. "We could manage beautifully; I'm sure we could, Mother," she said earnestly. "I've learned some things since I've been in service, and you'd find I could help you a good deal more than you expect."

"You ought to be more handy. You have been out nearly a year now, and if you had kept all the time in your first place you would have been worth something by this time; for Mrs. Roberts prides herself on turning out good servants."

"Oh! Yes, I daresay; but what girl would put up with her fidgety ways?" said Lizzie.

"Many girls are glad to get the chance. Look at Mary Russell, she has been there ever since you left, and her mother tells me she is learning to cook and make pastry quite nicely."

"Oh! Well, let her. It's no good crying over spilt milk. Mrs. Roberts never taught me cooking, and I don't suppose she ever would if I'd stopped with her fifty years. Now, Mother, say I may give warning as soon as I go back, and let me come and help you instead of looking for another place."

But Mrs. Betts shook her head. "No, no, Lizzie," she said; "your father wouldn't like it. You must try to put up with Mrs. Spencer's temper; and be careful how you do your work, and then she will not be cross with you."

"You don't know her," snapped Lizzie; "nobody ever can please her. The girl next door told me as good as that the first day I went."

"Very well; if you knew your mistress was hard to please you should have been more careful not to offend her. Just think of it—you have had three places in less than twelve months! The first was dull, and your mistress too particular. You would go where there was children: before you had been a month in the nursery you could not bear the fretful baby—"

"Well, it was a cross little thing; you know that yourself, Mother," interrupted the girl.

"Well, perhaps it was cross; but then your mistress was very kind and considerate, and you might have put up with the baby's fretfulness for a little while longer. I tell you, Lizzie, that go wherever you may, there will be something to put up with. The world isn't a bed of roses for anybody, I can tell you; and if you don't have one thing to try you, it will be another."

"Yes, I daresay it will," said Lizzie, folding over the corner of the ironing-cloth; "but still I don't see why I should have to put up with strange people's tempers when I can help you at home."

"But I don't want you at home," remonstrated her mother. "The little bit of washing I have got I can manage by myself, and I cannot afford to keep a great girl like you."

"But you could get some more, I daresay," persisted Lizzie; "and then—"

But here the talk was interrupted by the entrance of her father, and she thought it would be best not to say any more about it at present.

"Where's Jack?" she asked, looking round for her brother, as her father set down his basket of tools which her brother usually carried.

Mrs. Betts looked up from her ironing, too, in a questioning manner. "There's nothing wrong, is there?" she said a little anxiously.

"No, no, Mother, there's nothing wrong but this: that we've only made about a couple of hours to-day between us, and Jack heard of a place that was vacant at the foundry, and so he's gone to see about it."

"But you couldn't do without Jack, Father, could you?" said Lizzie. "I thought you always wanted a boy for a soldering job, and you said the other day he was getting so handy you wouldn't know what to do without him."

"But I shall have to do without him if there's no work to be got," said her father with something like a growl, as he seated himself by the fire.

Mrs. Betts sighed and turned to her ironing again. "Don't you be late, Lizzie," she said; "and try all you can to please your mistress."

"Ah! Don't you be giving up this place just as things are at their worst at home," said her father by way of emphasis to his wife's remark.

Lizzie nodded her head but made no reply. She had begun to make a plan for her future, which her father's words did not in the least alter. She did not like service, she had made up her mind about that now, and she intended to get out of it as soon as she could, and do something that would afford her more liberty than she could have while out in a situation. She had not thought about living at home again until her mother mentioned the washing, but she caught at this as affording a chance for her return.

She bade her mother and father good-night, and went out, but she was in no hurry to go back to her mistress; and so, when she saw a friend at the corner of the street, she was quite eager to enter into conversation, and even to turn back and go with her on her errand.

"Why didn't you meet me on Sunday, as you promised, Emma?" she said in a reproachful tone.

"I couldn't get out. Three of the children were so poorly, and now the baby is quite ill," said the girl.

"And you stayed in for that?"

"Of course I did. How could I leave them?"

"Hadn't they got a mother?" demanded Lizzie.

"What makes you ask such a question as that? You know they have; and she's a kind considerate mistress, too," said Emma.

"Oh yes, very kind," said Lizzie with something like a sneer; "very kind she must be, to keep a poor girl in all day on Sunday—the only day she has a chance of getting out to see her friends."

"But she didn't keep me in," retorted Emma warmly. "She said I could go out as usual; but poor little Ethel cried so when she saw me with my bonnet on, that I said I would stay in. And I know mistress was glad enough about it; for she was able to go and lie down and get an hour's rest, while I kept the children quiet in the nursery."

"Well, Emma Russell, you are a muff! Anybody may know it's your first place!" exclaimed Lizzie scornfully. "To think of taking your things off after you had got ready to go out, and sitting down to mind a pack of cross children. Well, it's what I wouldn't do."

"Well, I would; and I'll do it again next Sunday if they don't get better."

"Oh! I daresay you'll do it every Sunday in future," said Lizzie with a short mocking laugh, "your mistress will take care of that, never fear. If you stop at home one Sunday, she'll think you can stay every Sunday."

"No, she won't," replied Emma. "And if she did, I'd rather put up with it than have the poor children crying for me as soon as my back was turned."

"Pack of rubbish! Let them cry, and let their mother quiet them," said Lizzie. "I tell you what it is, Emma,—it is girls like you who spoil places, and make mistresses expect so much of girls. I know—I've seen it."

Her companion laughed. "One would think you had been out at service ten years instead of ten months," she said.

"I've seen enough in ten months, though, to sicken me of service; and I don't mean to put up with it much longer."

"What are you going to do then, Lizzie?" asked her companion in some curiosity.

"Oh! I don't know yet; but I shan't stay in service much longer. Are you going back to your place now? Because we may as well walk together if you are, and I can tell you what I've been thinking of."

"Wait a minute until I go in and ask Mother if she's made my new aprons; for I want them to wear, and mistress said I might come and ask about them."

"You've never been buying more new aprons, Emma?" exclaimed her friend. "I'm sure you wanted a new hat more than aprons."

"I'm sure I didn't," contradicted Emma. "A new hat! And I only had that the beginning of the summer, and have just worn it on Sunday afternoons. I mean to make that last all the winter with a bit of new dark ribbon."

"Well I wouldn't spend the money in buying coarse aprons," retorted Lizzie. "Now make haste, and I'll wait for you," she said as they reached the door of Emma's house.

She would not go inside, for she did not like Mrs. Russell (she thought she was too strict with Emma); and so she paced up and down the street for the ten minutes Emma was chatting. She ought to have been back at her home—her mistress would be sure to scold her, for she was told that she could go out for an hour to see her mother, but not to stay longer, as she would be wanted. She remembered something of this just as Emma joined her, and she said:

"Come, make haste, I ought to be home by this time."

But she forgot her hurry when the broad lighted street was reached, where tempting displays of ribbon and lace were spread out in the shop windows.

"Do stop a minute and look at this hat, I'm going to ask Mother to make me one like it," said Lizzie catching her companion by the arm, and drawing her towards the brilliantly-lighted shop.

Emma paused a minute to look at the hat Lizzie was so anxious she should see, but she did not stay to admire it. "I want to get back," she said; "I am afraid the children will wake up while I am out."

"Oh! Bother the children; surely you can stay a minute. Just look at that lace, isn't it cheap? I mean to buy some out of my next money."

Emma paused again to look for a minute where she was directed. "I can't see the fun of looking at things we are never likely to want, and never shall be able to buy," she said.

"But I mean to buy them some day," said Lizzie. "I don't believe in dressing a dowdy fright, and spending all my money in coarse aprons."

"But you can't do without tidy holland aprons, and you can do without lace," laughed Emma.

"But I can't, and I won't; and that's another reason why I hate service. A servant mustn't dress nice, or wear anything like her mistress; and she must wear caps and white aprons that cost no end of money, just to please other people, and I won't do it."

"But what will you do?" asked Emma. "Girls don't go to service for the fun of the thing, of course. If Mother could keep me at home, she would be very glad to have me help her with the children; but she can't afford it, now there are so many of us."

"Well, my mother will have to afford it. There are only two of us besides Mother and Father; and now Mother's began to take in a bit of washing, I know she wants me at home to help her."

"Well, if she wants you at home, of course you ought to go," said Emma. And then she suddenly added, "I say, Lizzie, do you think she would take a bit more washing?"

"I'm sure she would if she could get it. That's just what we want. Why did you ask?"

"Because my mistress wants to find somebody that will do ours without tearing the clothes so much. Last week one of my collars and two of baby's pinafores were torn all to pieces."

"Oh! Do speak for Mother to have it, Emma," said her friend eagerly. "I know she would be very particular, and she can iron shirts beautifully."

"If she can iron shirts nicely, and don't tear the clothes, she will be sure to do very well for us," said Emma; "and I'll speak to mistress about it to-morrow."

"Oh! You are a dear. If you will do that, I shall be so glad," said Lizzie.

Emma was surprised to find her friend so eager about this.

They had paused at the top of the street where Lizzie lived to have the last bit of talk about the washing, and Emma turned away after saying "good-night," but the next instant Lizzie was beside her again.

"I shall come a little way down this road with you," she said.

"Won't you be late? I thought you wanted to get back," said her companion, walking sharper now to make up for the time she had wasted looking in at the shops.

"Oh! It don't matter," answered Lizzie lightly. "When do you think you will know about the washing?" she asked.

"Well, I'll speak about it to-morrow morning if I can, and tell you when I get out on Sunday what she says about it."

"Mind you do get out next Sunday. I walked up and down this road for an hour last Sunday afternoon waiting for you."

"Oh! I shall be able to come next Sunday I should think. For the children will be better I hope, and there will be nothing to hinder me," said Emma; and then she once more bade her friend "good-night," and turned homeward without any further delay.

Lizzie had been out nearly two hours instead of one, and her mistress had been put to some inconvenience, and was very cross when she got back.

"I told you I could only spare you for an hour, Elizabeth," she said as she opened the door to her young maid of all work. "You have been out nearly two hours. Where have you been all this time?"

"Home," answered Lizzie with a toss of her head.

"But surely your mother would not keep you so long? Did you tell her I could only spare you for an hour to-night?"

"No; I didn't think it mattered."

"Now, Elizabeth, if you stay here you must obey me," said the lady sharply; for her manner was so provoking she felt strongly inclined to give her notice to leave there and then.

It was just what Lizzie was wishing she would do; but Mrs. Spencer, out of compassion for her mother, resolved to try and bear with her a little longer, hoping the girl's own good sense would be sufficient to convince her of the folly of what she was doing.

"You ought to try and do as you are told, for your mother's sake if not for your own," went on the lady in a reasoning tone, while Lizzie stood stretching the elastic of her hat, looking as indifferent and defiant as she well could.

"There! You had better go to the kitchen and set the supper tray," she said at last, finding she could make no impression upon her; and Lizzie walked along the passage, swinging her hat as she went in a manner totally indifferent.

In reality, she was disappointed. She had made up her mind that her mistress would be so vexed because she was late that she would give her warning to leave as soon as she went home, and that this had not happened provoked her considerably. She threw her hat down in the corner of the kitchen, dashed the knives out of the tray on to the table with as much clatter as she could, snatched the plates from the rack and set them on the tray without wiping them, and smashed a tumbler lifting it from the shelf.

The breaking of the glass seemed to have a calming effect upon her temper, and she was moving about more quietly when her mistress came in to see what was broken.

"Another tumbler, Elizabeth?" she said, taking up one of the broken pieces.

"Another! I haven't broke one before," said the girl gruffly.

"Didn't you break one last week?" queried Mrs. Spencer. "And didn't I tell you then that you would have to pay for the next out of your own money?"

"But I didn't say I'd do it," answered Lizzie pertly.

"No! But I shall expect it done; and therefore I shall stop sixpence—the value of it—out of your next month's money."

"Then I won't stop here," said Lizzie, throwing down the salt spoon she had in her hand. "I'm not going to work hard for my money, and then buy your glasses with it, and—"

But her mistress turned round and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Lizzie to rave at the walls if she pleased; for she closed the door as she went out, so that no one should hear what the foolish girl said.

[CHAPTER II.]

AT THE FAIR.

MRS. SPENCER did not speak to Lizzie again that night; she thought it would be best to wait until the girl was in a better frame of mind.

So the next morning, when breakfast was over, and a suitable opportunity offered, she said, "Elizabeth, are you sorry for what took place last night?"

Instead of answering Lizzie picked up the corner of her apron, and began twisting it round her fingers.

"We must come to some understanding with each other, you know," went on the lady; "because I cannot keep you if you are determined to go on as you have been doing this last month. The first month you were with me you did very well indeed, and beyond showing you how I liked things done, you gave me no trouble; but since then, scarcely a day has passed but I have had to find fault with you."

"If I don't suit, I'd better go," said Lizzie sullenly.

"But do you know what that will mean for you, my girl?" asked the lady. "You have made a bad beginning of life as it is, and if you leave me, it will make things worse. You have already had three situations within twelve months, and for a girl to be constantly changing her places like that, proves that there must be something amiss with her."

"No! It ain't me; it's the places," said Lizzie.

"Well now, tell me frankly why you left your first place," said Mrs. Spencer. "I don't like to see a girl act so foolishly as you are doing. It will end in trouble for you by and by, I feel sure."

"I must take my chance of that, I suppose," said the obstinate girl still twisting at her apron.

"But you have not answered my question, and I should like to know why you left your first place," reiterated the lady. "You left your last on account of the children, but I have heard that there were no children where you lived first."

"No; but the place was hard, and I thought I'd like to go where there were children. I want an easy place where—where—"

"Where the work is put out, I suppose," said the lady with a smile. "Well, I can assure you, there are no such places as that to be got, Elizabeth; and so you had better make up your mind to settle down here until you have earned a character, and are able to take a better situation."

"There's nothing amiss with my character," said Lizzie in an indignant tone.

"Cannot you see that you are making your character anything but what it should be by so frequently changing? People will say you are so discontented, it is useless to take you into their homes; and the better the place may be, the less likely they are to give you a trial. Now, make up your mind to turn over a new leaf, and stay where you are for a year. If you will promise to do this, I will look over the past, and give you another trial; for I am thinking of the sort of character I should have to give you, if you left me now."

"Oh! You needn't trouble about that," said the girl pertly, "I shan't want you to give me a character. I'm not going to service again."

"Not—going—to—service—again!" repeated Mrs. Spencer in great astonishment. "Why, your Sunday-school teacher told me that your mother was so thankful you were out, for your father's work had been so very slack lately."

Lizzie hung her head, and looked rather foolish.

"What do you think of doing, if you are not going to service again?" asked the lady.

The question had to be repeated more than once before Lizzie would answer, but at length she muttered, "I'm going home to help Mother with the washing—she takes in washing now."

The lady looked puzzled; but still this did not seem such an unreasonable thing, only she thought it was rather a short-sighted business to take the girl away and put her to the wash-tub when she could do so much better for herself in service.

This she thought was a question for her mother to consider, however; and so she said no more to Lizzie upon the subject, but resolved to call and see her mother about it.

So an hour or two afterwards, just as Mrs. Betts was busy ironing, she was surprised by a visit from Mrs. Spencer, and greatly astonished when she heard the errand upon which she had come.

"I told her distinctly last night that I could not have her at home, and her father said the same thing," said the poor woman looking greatly troubled over the account the lady gave of Lizzie's behaviour. "I'm very much obliged to you, ma'am, for the trouble you have taken with her; and if you could persuade her to stop with you I should feel very grateful. Tell her, ma'am, she can't come home—we can't afford to keep her; and as to taking in washing and having her home to do it, why, I might as well be without it."

"I think you are wise in trying to induce her to stay in service," said the lady; and she went back to see what she could do with the foolish girl, who seemed bent upon running into trouble, and causing distress and anxiety to her friends.

She did not know what to say when she heard that her mistress had been to see her mother.

"What did you want to go for?" she said sullenly. "I know Mother will want me at home, for she is going to have some more washing, and so I should like you to suit yourself by this day month," added Lizzie.

"No, Elizabeth; I shall not take your warning," said her mistress firmly. "You must try and do better in future, and for your mother's sake put up with what you do not like."

"I hate service, and I never shall like it," said Lizzie, now beginning to cry; but she did not say any more about leaving, and her mistress hoped things would smooth down, and she would grow reconciled when she found it was impossible for her to go home to live.

On Sunday, Mrs. Betts told her again she must not think of giving up her situation. She had heard from Emma Russell about the new washing, and had seen her mistress, and she had told her that Emma was so kind to the children, so considerate and obliging, that she intended to buy her a new dress as soon as the children get better.

"She came soon after your mistress was here; and I could not help comparing the two accounts I had heard, and wishing it was my girl that was being praised," added poor Mrs. Betts.

"I don't," said Lizzie doggedly. "I might be quite as good as Emma, but nobody would ever think any more of me for it; and so I mean to take things easy. It's Emma's luck to be thought so much of," she concluded.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," said Mrs. Betts. "She has earned a character for being good-natured and obliging, while you have got one for discontent. I tell you, though, that you must be contented where you are, for I cannot and will not have you at home, though this fresh washing has come in," concluded her mother.

So Lizzie went back feeling greatly disappointed and very unhappy; for she had made up her mind that when her mother got this washing, she would certainly be compelled to have her home in spite of what she had told her mistress. In fact, the foolish girl began to think it was entirely owing to her, that her own plans had failed. If she had not gone to her mother as she did, Lizzie felt sure that, having secured the washing for her, she could easily have persuaded her that it was best to give up her place and come home to help with it; but the premature disclosure of these plans had spoiled them altogether.

So it was in no pleasant mood that she went back on Sunday evening. And far from resolving to try and do better in future, she made up her mind to do all she could to vex and annoy her mistress. By this means, too, she might be able to compel her mother to let her go home, and once at home, she would turn over a new leaf, and be so steady and industrious, that her mother would not want to part with her again.

Just as she was about to turn into the street where she lived, her attention was attracted by half-a-dozen caravans that slowly rolled along the road, a group of men and women talking loudly in dispute beside them.

Lizzie paused a minute to look at the gaudily-painted picture on the outside of one, when an elderly red-faced woman stepped up to her.

"My dear, can you tell me the way to Snowfields?" she said.

Lizzie's head was full of the pictures painted on the caravan, and she wondered whether she could go and see the wax-work figures they represented.

"Are these shows going to Snowfields?" she said, after she had taken some pains to point out the way to the woman.

"Yes, my dear, we shall be there for a week; and if you like to come round some evening and ask for Mrs. Stanley, why, you shall see the wax-works, and maybe have your fortune told if you can bring a bit of silver with you, just to cross your hand with," said the woman.

Lizzie looked doubtful. "I haven't got much money," she said in a faltering tone.

"Oh! A little bit will do, my dear; or an old silver spoon that your mother has thrown away."

The silly girl felt flattered that the woman should think her mother was rich enough to throw away old silver spoons, and went on holding her head a trifle higher, while the woman hurried to overtake her friends, smiling as she thought how easy the girl could be taken in.

Lizzie reached home in a rather better mood than when she set out on her walk, and was altogether more pleasant and obliging during the next day; so that her mistress thought the advice she had doubtless received at home had made some impression upon her, and that she had resolved to do better in future.

So when on Wednesday morning she asked if she might go out for an hour in the evening, Mrs. Spencer thought it would encourage her to persevere if she let her have some relaxation, and so gave her permission, but told her not to stay out so late as she had done the previous week.

As soon as the tea-things were cleared away, Lizzie went upstairs to dress herself; for she had made up her mind to go as smart as she could to see Mrs. Stanley. She had trimmed the sleeves of her dress with white lace, and tacked a broad piece round the neck, and put on her best hat and gloves, thinking to impose still further on the woman's notion that she was a lady.

She was careful to button her black cloth jacket close when she went out, so that her mistress did not notice how smart she had made her frock look; but before she got to Snowfields, she took it off and carried it across her arm.

There was little fear that she would meet Emma Russell or any of her friends on the road to Snowfields; for this was a piece of waste ground lying at the back of the town, and altogether out of the way of the general traffic, although there seemed a good many people on their Way thither this evening.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, there was no one walking along the road who recognized Lizzie, and she reached the ground feeling quite elated over her success so far. She had brought sixpence—all the money she possessed, and she carefully pulled out her lace ruffles, drew up her gloves, and put on an air that she thought must convince everybody of her right to be considered a lady.

The business of the evening was just beginning when she reached the ground. There was a steam roundabout, a stall for shooting at a target, besides the wax-work show, in front of which a girl about her own age, dressed in red velveteen and spangles, walked up and down a narrow platform in front of the picture that had caught her attention on Sunday night, and expatiated on the wonders to be seen inside.

Lizzie stood still to have another look at the picture; for it was nearly dark on Sunday, and only a few of the most glaring points could be seen. And as she looked, she noticed that the name of "Stanley" appeared on the show, and over the roundabout—in fact, the whole fair seemed to belong to the Stanleys, so that Lizzie felt doubly glad she had put on her best frock to visit a lady of such wealth and importance.

After looking about her for some minutes, hoping to see Mrs. Stanley appear from behind some of the caravans, Lizzie stepped up to the edge of the platform, and tried to make the girl understand that she wanted to speak to her, but the din of the steam roundabout, the crack, crack, bang, bang, of the rifles, and the grinding of an Italian organ just inside the wax-work exhibition itself, made this perfectly impossible, and all the notice the girl vouchsafed to her, was to call in a louder tone:

"Walk up, ladies, walk up, the performance is just about to begin. Only one penny to see all the wonders of this marvellous exhibition." And as she repeated these words, the girl moved the gilded stick she carried in front of the gaudily-painted picture, and walked on in lofty disregard of Lizzie's beseeching looks.

At last, as there seemed no other way open to make her arrival known to the lady she was in search of, Lizzie went up the few steps, and presented herself to the man who was taking money in front of the curtain that hung over the entrance to the show.

"I want to see Mrs. Stanley, if you please," she said, putting on her most ladylike air.

The man looked at her with a puzzled expression, and just at that moment the curtain was pushed aside, and two or three boys and girls came out of the exhibition, looking very hot, and bringing an overpowering smell of sawdust and paraffin with them.

"You want to see Mrs. Stanley," said the man slowly, looking the girl all over, and noting every point about her dress and appearance. "And what may you want her for?" he said, resting his elbows on the little green baize-covered table the more easily to look at the girl more closely.

She drew herself up and looked indignant. "I have come to see her," she said; "she told me to come on Sunday evening."

"Oh! She did, did she? Well, then, it's all right, I s'pose. Only she ain't got time to see many visitors, I can tell you, young lady;" and then the man poked his head inside the curtain and called, "Tottie, Tottie, come here."

A pale cross-looking girl, dressed in bright pink tarlatan, came presently to the front.

"What do you want now?" she demanded.

"Open t'other door and call your mother; here's a lady come to see her," and Lizzie thought she saw the man wink as he spoke.

Certainly the girl stared at her before she dropped the curtain and went to open the door.

This show did not seem to be largely patronized, in spite of the pictures and the shrill invitations to "walk up, walk up" constantly uttered by the girl outside. People seemed to prefer riding on the wooden homes and swans of the roundabout or shooting for nuts.

In a few minutes the girl in pink came back, and said shortly, "She's to go round."

"Rosina, Rosina," called the man, still sitting with his elbows on the table.

But if Rosina heard, she did not choose to answer the call, until in her regular walk up the little platform she came near the entrance, and then putting her head round she said sharply, "What now?"

"Just show this lady the way round to the general's quarters," he said in a lofty tone, and he motioned Lizzie to go down the steps again.

And the girl with the wand in an equally dignified manner pointed to a little opening between the caravans, which gave access to the space at the back, where horses were tethered, ugly lurcher dogs sprawled about, and the kitchen arrangements for the whole fair seemed to be carried on. But a neatly painted caravan, with pretty lace curtains at the little windows, stood in the midst of the nondescript litter, and at the door stood the woman she had seen on Sunday night.

Lizzie gave another pull at her lace and gloves, and Mrs. Stanley, who noticed it, said in a less boisterous tone than she usually adopted, "So you've kept your promise, miss, and come to see the show people."

"Yes," said Lizzie, in the most languid tone she could assume. "I've come, but I shan't be able to stop long."

"Oh! That's a pity now; for I might ha' showed yer all the sights o' the fair, besides telling your fortune. You've brought the bit of silver I spoke about, ain't yer?"

"Yes, I've brought sixpence," said Lizzie.

"Well, come up here now, and we'll shut the door and have a quiet chat to ourselves," said the woman; and Lizzie, feeling very much gratified at this distinction, went up the little flight of steps.

She was amazed when she stepped inside to find herself in a cosy little room, with a bright carpet on the floor, a chintz-covered sofa at the opposite end, and chairs ranged along the sides, and a mahogany table in the centre.

"You see, I've got a tidy room to ask a lady into," said the woman, placing a chair for her guest and one for herself near the table.

"Ye-es, I did not think these places were so comfortable," said Lizzie, lost in amazement at her surroundings.

"Well, miss, I wouldn't tell everybody, but I must confess the show business isn't bad for making money. This is very well when we're on the road, but you should see our winter quarters. Oh! We're in clover in the wintertime. Like the bees, we make our honey or money in the summer, and spend it in the winter. And now for the bit of silver to cross the palm with. Take off your gloves, my dear, and hold your hand up to the light so that I can see the lines, and then we'll have a look at the cards and see what they say," and Mrs. Stanley produced a dirty pack of cards from her capacious pocket, and proceeded to shuffle them.

[CHAPTER III.]

THE FORTUNE-TELLER.

"WELL, to be sure!" And in well-feigned astonishment, Mrs. Stanley threw down the cards and looked at Lizzie, who sat close by, watching the performance with great interest.

"What is it—what is the matter?" she asked.

"What is the matter?" repeated the woman. "Why, you've got such a lucky hand, that I ought to have half-a-crown for telling it; and if you can't give it me now, you must remember me when you're a rich lady riding in your carriage in silks and satins."

"Oh! Yes, I will," said Lizzie with a smile of supreme satisfaction, taking up her gloves and preparing to put them on again.

"Wait a minute, my dear. I'll go through the cards once more, just to be certain there's no mistake about it, and maybe I shall be able to tell which way the riches are coming—whether from mother and father, uncle or aunt."

But Lizzie shook her head at this suggestion.

And the woman, watching her, presently said, "No, it ain't through either of these ways it'll come; and it won't be just yet either, for I can see you'll travel a bit and see the world—a good deal more of it than this little town can teach you."

While she was saying this the woman was moving the cards about, and pretending to read her predictions from those she turned up; but she kept her eyes on Lizzie, watching her face more than the cards. After this mummery had been gone through for several minutes, she suddenly threw down the cards with an angry expletive.

"If I wasn't afraid it 'ud turn out like that," she exclaimed, thumping the table with her clenched fist.

"Why, what is it?" said Lizzie with whitening lips, "Am I to be a servant after all?"

"Well, it won't last long. I see by the cards you are in service now, though nobody would think it to look at you. People say fortunetellers are deceivers, and they may be sometimes; but it's the stars are at fault. And I'll tell you how, my dear. A wise woman looks at a hand, and she sees fortune writ there plain as the nose on your face, then she turns up the cards and sees fortune there again, and of course she thinks it safe enough, and she tells the party, for it's taken her some time to find out this much, and she don't stop to look no further, 'cos there's no time to spare to learn any more, and so the thing that ought to be done ain't known nothing about—ain't made itself seen, 'cos it wants looking for, and so a fortune's lost. Ah! Many a fortune's lost that way, my dear."

"But have you found out all about it for me?" asked Lizzie quickly; for it was getting dark now, and she had a long way to go home.

"Yes, my dear. I've got to the bottom of the matter at last, though it seemed as though the stars didn't want to disclose all their secrets about you;" and she went on talking about the "stars" as though they were intimate friends of hers, who could not resist her blandishments when she was determined to wring their secrets from them.

"But you have not told me what I am to do," said Lizzie, rising from her seat at last, and drawing her gloves over her fortunate hands.

"No, my dear. Because it's rather a disappointing thing I've got to tell you; and I'm soft-hearted enough to feel sorry when I see a girl disappointed, and maybe lose the fortune that's waiting for her, because she can't make up her mind to stretch out her hand and lay hold of it."

"Oh! I'm not like that," said Lizzie. "I'd get it, I know, if I had the chance!"

"Well, my dear, you certainly have got the chance. The fortune's there sure enough, but I can see it'll never drop into your lap. It wants seeking. You must go and meet it, for it will never come to you in this miserable town, nor while you are in service; I can see that plain enough."

"But what am I to do?" said Lizzie in a tone of perplexity.

"Well, I ain't quite clear about that yet," said the woman. "I must study the cards and the stars a bit deeper; such things as that ain't found out in a hurry."

"Oh! But I can't stop any longer," said Lizzie in a tone of alarm; for as she spoke a church clock struck nine, and she ought to have been home by this time.

"No, no, you can't stay to-night, I know that, my dear; but still I should be sorry for you to lose this fortune when you are willing to get it."

While she was speaking the woman took down her bonnet and shawl from the peg and put them on. "I'll walk back with you," she said; "for it's hardly safe for a pretty girl like you to be so late. And as we go along, we'll think of a plan to meet again; for I take a great interest in young people, 'specially them as are the favourites of the stars, as you are."

"I expect I shall catch it when I get home," said Lizzie, looking round the lighted fair as they stepped out beside the wax-work show.

"Never mind, my dear, it won't be for long," said Mrs. Stanley; "the stars speak plain enough on that. You've but a short time to be in service, that's plainly writ—over six months I should say, but under a year."

"Then it won't be long," said Lizzie in a relieved tone; "for I've been out ten months."

"Ah! I thought it was about that time Jupiter indicated, and I should say it'll end in a few days now."

"The sooner the better," said the girl; "for I hate service."

"Of course you do, my dear; the fortune that hangs over you won't let you settle to it as other girls can. And now let us see about our meeting again. I suppose you won't be able to get out any more this week?"

"Not till Sunday," replied Lizzie with a sigh.

The woman reiterated it. "That's awkward," she said; "for I shall be miles away from here by that time."

"But—but you won't go away till you've told me what I've to do to get this fortune?' she said.

"Well, my dear, I'll help you to get it, if I can," said the woman in a tone of benevolent pity; "but, you see, I'm only the servant of the stars like the rest of mankind, and I must move on at their bidding, and I know I've got to go the last thing on Saturday night, or first thing on Sunday morning. I tell you what, though," she said, as though she had just thought of something, "I might come and see you one night about dusk. Is there a side gate at your house?"

"Yes," said Lizzie eagerly; "and my mistress will be out to-morrow night, and I shall be alone. So if you come about eight o'clock, you might tell me what I ought to do, and I'll pay you well for your trouble when I get my fortune."

"Of course you will, my dear. You'll be worth your weight in gold by and by, and able to help old Mother Stanley and a good many people besides."

And she talked of the splendid silk dresses she would wear, and the number of servants and carriages she would keep, and the grand things she would do for all her friends by and by, until the silly girl's head was completely turned; which was exactly what the artful woman designed, for this would enable her to carry out the plan she had formed when she first saw Lizzie, and the discontent on her face told her she was dissatisfied with her lot in life, and ready to incur any risks to change it.

Mrs. Stanley went to within a few yards of the house where Lizzie lived, carefully noted its appearance, and then turned back, laughing to herself over the girl's folly, and how easily she had been taken in.

She was careful to be near the house about eight o'clock the next night, and, as she expected, she soon saw Lizzie peeping out of the side gate looking for her. She held up her finger warningly as she drew near, and looked up and down the street to make sure no one was watching her, and that no policeman was in sight, and having satisfied herself that nobody was about, she darted inside the gate and carefully bolted it after her, and then followed Lizzie to the comfortable little kitchen at the side.

"Well, my dear, I've had a deal of trouble to find out all you wanted to know," she said, seating herself in the chair Lizzie had placed ready for her. "Are we all alone—is that woman who calls herself your mistress safe out of the way?"

"Yes, she's gone out to supper," said Lizzie, "and will not be home till ten o'clock, and master has gone with her."

"Master?" repeated the woman in a scornful tone. "Didn't I tell you, you'd soon be worth your weight in gold, and able to buy these half-and-half people up over and over again. Take that horrid cap off, my dear. I do hate to see a lady who is on the edge of coming into a fortune in a thing like that," and Mrs. Stanley loosened her own bonnet-strings and unpinned her shawl by way of making herself comfortable, while Lizzie took off the obnoxious cap and put it out of sight.

"My dear, you've got lovely hair. You'll set off the jewels and satins you'll wear by and by," said the woman, apparently lost in admiration of the girl as she seated herself at the other side of the table, and prepared to listen to the further unfoldment of her "fortune."

"Now you want to know what secrets the stars have disclosed since I saw you last," went on Mrs. Stanley. "Well, my dear, it's all summed up in one word—travel. You've got to travel—to go right away from this dull out of the way misfortuned place; for I can see plain enough that the malefic stars rule over this town, and the sooner you're out of it the better."

"But how am I to go?" asked Lizzie in some anxiety. "My mother and father and all my friends live here, and I don't know where else to go."

The woman crossed her arms and looked at Lizzie. "Ain't there nobody as knows you anywhere—not in London or some other big city?" she said.

The girl shook her head dolefully. "I haven't got a friend in the world outside of this town," she said.

"Well, now, that is unfortunate. And worth your weight in gold you'll be by and by," said her visitor, as if in great perplexity.

"Could—could you help me to get away, do you think?" asked the girl with some hesitation in her tone.

It was just what the woman had been waiting for, but she would not appear eager about it. "Well, suppose we talk it over a bit," she said in apparent reluctance. "Are you quite sure you ain't got no friends outside this town?"

"Yes, quite sure; and I haven't a penny in the world unless my mistress pays me my month's wages to-morrow," said Lizzie with tears in her eyes.

"Well, perhaps she'll pay you; and then you can go by yourself and seek your fortune," said Mrs. Stanley.

But the girl shook her head. "I shouldn't know where to look," she said. "I don't know anything about the stars; but if I could come with you, I should be sure not to miss it."

"That's true enough," said the woman meditatively; "but do you think your friends would agree to the plan?"

"I shouldn't ask them," said Lizzie, smiling at the absurdity of such a suggestion. "My mother thinks there is nothing better than service for a girl like me, and so I'm sure she wouldn't let me look for anything else, if she could help it. No! If I am to come with you, I should take care not to let anybody else know about it, or hear where I am until I get my fortune. Then, of course, I shall want to come back and help them all. I shall set my father up in a good business, and let my brother Jack learn to be an engineer."

"Of course you will help your friends, my dear, when you get your fortune; and it will be a pity to lose it for the want of going to seek it."

"I won't lose it," said Lizzie confidently, "if you will only let me come with you."

"Very well; as it seems the only way we can do it, perhaps you'd better. You know what sort of a place you'll have to travel in. But I shall have to coax my husband over to let you join us."

"Do you think he will object?" asked Lizzie anxiously.

"Well, if you get your wages to-morrow it can be managed easily enough I think; for you can pay that to him for your travelling expenses. How much did you say you would have?"

"Twelve shillings," answered Lizzie.

"Only twelve shillings! It ain't much, my dear to pay us for the risk and trouble, and—"

"Oh! But I will pay you for that by and by, Mrs. Stanley," interrupted Lizzie. "I will give you the twelve shillings as a little present."

The woman smiled to think how completely she had duped the silly girl, and how bitterly she would repent her folly by and by. But she took care not to betray any of these thoughts now. She only said, "Ah! When you are worth your weight in gold, my dear, you will be a generous friend, I know."

"Yes, that I will," said Lizzie, feeling sure that it would be easy to do this when she had plenty of money to do as she liked with.

"Now, then, we must talk about how you are to get away," said practical Mrs. Stanley, who was beginning to grow tired of the comedy. "How many clothes have you got?"

"Shall I have to bring my clothes with me?" said the girl, a little disappointed at this prospect.

"Yes, you must bring your clothes to wear until you can get better."

"I thought I should so soon get the silk dresses you spoke about, I need not trouble myself with these common things," and Lizzie looked down disdainfully at the neat print dress she wore.

Mrs. Stanley, however, regarded the dress with different feelings. "Those clothes are too good to leave behind," she said. "You might give them to me, and it would help make up for the cost of your journey."

"Very well, you shall have them then. But how am I to carry my box if nobody is to know I am going away?" she suddenly asked. "Am I to go with you to-night?"

"No, no, that'll never do. You must meet me about a mile out of the town by six o'clock on Sunday morning," said Mrs. Stanley quickly.

"But how am I to carry the box?"

"You must leave the box behind. Only bring all your clothes except your caps, you won't want them any more," said the woman.

"It'll be a big bundle to carry," said Lizzie, mentally passing in review the new underlines and cotton frocks, to say nothing of the hats and jackets that were included in that one word "clothes."

"I might take some of them with me to-night, if you like," said Mrs. Stanley in an indifferent tone.

"Oh! If you would not mind doing that, I could get away easier on Sunday morning," said Lizzie. "I will go up and pack up my clean clothes, and I can put on my best frock to come in."

"No, no, that won't do," said the woman; who thought that a girl like Lizzie, dressed in her best frock so early in the morning, would be sure to attract attention. Besides, the best frock and hat might possibly be recognized by someone she might meet, and so, to make sure that this risk was not incurred, she suggested that the best frock and hat, and as many underclothes as she could put up, should be taken away that night.

"I'll bring you a bonnet and shawl to wear on Sunday morning. One that will screen your face so that nobody shall see who you are, as they might do if you wore one of your own hats," said Mrs. Stanley.

"I wish I could go with you to carry the bundle," said Lizzie, as she lighted the candle to go to her bed-room, which was at the top of the house. "I won't be long," she said as she left the kitchen.

"Don't hurry, my dear; mind you bring all the things," said her visitor.

And while she was speaking, she untied her shoes, and before Lizzie was up the first flight of stairs she had taken a long wax taper from her pocket, lighted it at the kitchen gas, slipped off her shoes, and then crept into the dining and drawing rooms. She looked all round these to see if there was anything worth stealing among the ornaments, but only found a small silver fruit knife, which she instantly transferred to her pocket.

But she examined the window shutters at the back, and the fastenings of the street door, with a good deal of care, and then went back to the kitchen, put on her shoes again, and looked over the locks and bolts of the back door.

She was seated in the chair just where she had been left when Lizzie came down again with the bundle in her hand.

"I must be going now," she said rising from her seat. "I will bring the bonnet and shawl to-morrow night about nine o'clock, and throw it over the gate; and you must get away from here soon after five on Sunday morning, and walk to the first milestone on the London road. We shall be along there about six, and then we can hide you out of sight. But mind, if a policeman should be near you, just walk on, and don't even look at me or the caravans till I speak first."

Lizzie gave the required promise, and so they parted.

[CHAPTER IV.]

ONE SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING.

LIZZIE fastened the back gate securely after her visitor had departed, and returned to her little kitchen well pleased with her evening's work. She put on her cap, thinking that a day or two more only would she have to wear the odious thing, and then she fell to contemplating the grandeur that awaited her. She forgot her supper, forgot the ordinary duties of turning down the beds and making things tidy for the night—forgot everything but the visions conjured up by Mrs. Stanley's ready tongue.

Mrs. Spencer returned earlier than she was expected, and that brought Lizzie back to her present surroundings. For when the lady went upstairs, and saw the bed-room was just as she had left it, she made up her mind that the girl was incorrigible, and would have to be discharged.

"What have you been doing all the evening?" she exclaimed, when Lizzie went up in answer to her call. "I shall have to send you home, I am afraid, unless you behave very differently. Now, understand this, Elizabeth, I give you notice to-night to leave this day month; but if you choose to turn over a new leaf, and do your work in a proper manner, I shall not wish to part with you."

Lizzie tossed her head in an indifferent manner, but made no reply.

Her mistress paid her month's wages the next morning, but deducted sixpence for the broken tumbler as she had threatened, which greatly offended the girl, for she had made up her mind to take the whole twelve shillings to Mrs. Stanley.

On Saturday night, she went to bed as early as she could, for she was afraid of oversleeping herself the next morning. Five o'clock was an early hour to be astir; but she must contrive to dress and be out soon afterwards, for she was to join the Stanleys a mile beyond the town by six. The bonnet and shawl that she was to wear had been thrown over the gate on Friday night, and she had that safely tucked away in her almost empty box. The few remaining articles of her wardrobe she made into a bundle before she went to bed, and then lay down and tried to go to sleep.

But for once sleep refused to come to her eyes. She lay tossing on her pillow, her mind full of doubt now as to whether she had done a wise thing in deciding to run away with this woman. Conscience spoke, and told her it was a wrong and foolish thing to do; but she assured herself she must go on now in the path she had chosen, for she had no clothes to wear, and, therefore, she could not turn back.

A more uncomfortable night Lizzie never spent. She turned from side to side, but sleep she could not; and at last, when she heard the church clock strike two, she decided that she must not go to sleep now, for fear she should not wake up in the morning until it was too late to join her new adviser.

If the silly girl had only known it—could only have peeped a little way into the future, she would have seen that this would have been a merciful interposition of Providence; but she took care not to close her eyes again. She sat up in bed, and then got a light and a book to read. But the book did not interest her, and so she dressed herself in the clean clothes she had put ready. She made this occupy as much time as possible, and brushed and combed her hair for nearly an hour before plaiting it up again. In this way, the time went until daylight came, and then she heard several church clocks strike five, which was the signal for her to go down-stairs.

She put on her bonnet and shawl, but carried her boots in her hand, as well as the bundle, and she did not venture to put on her boots until she was safe outside the back door. There was only the bolt of the garden gate to draw then, and she would be free—free, and on her way to meet the splendid fortune that awaited her!

Once outside and in the street, Lizzie walked on with less fear, though her own echoing footsteps this still Sunday morning almost frightened her. There was not a creature to be seen, not even a milkman had made his appearance yet, and Lizzie had walked some distance before the slow heavy tread of a policeman was heard on the echoing pathway.

Of course he took no notice of the girl, and could not see her face under the close-fitting black silk bonnet, that had evidently been made for some very old lady.

So she sped on, and just as the first strokes of six were sounding through the quiet morning air, Lizzie caught sight of the line of caravans slowly lumbering down a side road from the other end of the town.

She waited for them to come up, and in a few minutes Mrs. Stanley joined her. The woman looked carefully up and down both roads, but finding there was nobody but their own party in sight, she stopped the horse of the smartest-looking caravan, and told the girl to jump in as quickly as she could.

A gypsy against her will

A Gypsy Against Her Will

[CHAPTER I.]

[CHAPTER II.]

[CHAPTER III.]

[CHAPTER IV.]