slops, and wiped it clean with a damp cloth that hung against her apron.
I had used to wash the chamber-pots, at home. Now, seeing Margaret tip my piddle into her bucket, I was not sure I liked it. But I said, ''Thank you, Margaret''—then wished I hadn''t; for she heard it and tossed her head, as if to say, Who did I think I was, thanking her?
Servants. She said I should take my breakfast in Mrs Stiles''s pantry. Then she turned and left me—getting a quick look, I thought, at my frock and my shoes and my open trunk, on the way.
I waited for the fire to take, then rose and dressed. It was too cold to wash. My gown felt clammy. When I drew the window-curtain back and let the daylight in, I saw—what I had not been able to see the night before, by the candle—that the ceiling was streaked brown with damp, and the wood at the walls stained white.
From the next-door room there came the murmur of voices. I heard Margaret saying, ''Yes, miss.'' Then there was the shutting of a door.
Then there was silence. I went down to my breakfast—first losing my way among the dark passages at the bottom of the servants'' stairs, and finding myself in the yard with the privy in it. The privy, I saw now, was surrounded by nettles, and the bricks in the yard broken up with weeds. The walls of the house had ivy on them, and some of the windows wanted panes. Gentleman was right, after all, about the place being hardly worth cracking. He was right, too, about the servants. When I found Mrs Stiles''s pantry at last there was a man there, dressed in breeches and silk stockings, and with a wig on his head with powder on it. That was Mr Way. He had been steward to Mr Lilly for forty-five years, he said; and he looked it. When a girl brought the breakfasts, he was served first. We had gammon and an egg, and a cup of beer. They had beer with all their meals there, there was a whole room where it was brewed. And they say Londoners can lush!の思の兔の在の線の閱の讀の