Mrs Starvem was Ruth's former mistress, and this had been her parting gift when Ruth left to get married.It was supposed to be a keepsake, but as Ruth never opened the book and never willingly allowed her thoughts to dwell upon the scenes of which it reminded her, she had forgotten the existence of Mrs Starvem almost as completely as that well-to-do and pious lady had forgotten hers.
For Ruth, the memory of the time she spent in the house of `her loving friend' was the reverse of pleasant.It comprised a series of recollections of petty tyrannies, insults and indignities.Six years of cruelly excessive work, beginning every morning two or three hours before the rest of the household were awake and ceasing only when she went exhausted to bed, late at night.
She had been what is called a `slavey' but if she had been really a slave her owner would have had some regard for her health and welfare:
her `loving friend' had had none.Mrs Starvem's only thought had been to get out of Ruth the greatest possible amount of labour and to give her as little as possible in return.
When Ruth looked back upon that dreadful time she saw it, as one might say, surrounded by a halo of religion.She never passed by a chapel or heard the name of God, or the singing of a hymn, without thinking of her former mistress.To have looked into this Bible would have reminded her of Mrs Starvem; that was one of the reasons why the book reposed, unopened and unread, a mere ornament on the table in the bay window.
The second door in the passage near the foot of the stairs led into the kitchen or living-room: from here another door led into the scullery.Upstairs were two bedrooms.
As Easton entered the house, his wife met him in the passage and asked him not to make a noise as the child had just gone to sleep.They kissed each other and she helped him to remove his wet overcoat.Then they both went softly into the kitchen.
This room was about the same size as the sitting-room.At one end was a small range with an oven and a boiler, and a high mantelpiece painted black.On the mantelshelf was a small round alarm clock and some brightly polished tin canisters.At the other end of the room, facing the fireplace, was a small dresser on the shelves of which were nearly arranged a number of plates and dishes.The walls were papered with oak paper.On one wall, between two coloured almanacks, hung a tin lamp with a reflector behind the light.In the middle of the room was an oblong deal table with a white tablecloth upon which the tea things were set ready.There were four kitchen chairs, two of which were placed close to the table.Overhead, across the room, about eighteen inches down from the ceiling, were stretched several cords upon which were drying a number of linen or calico undergarments, a coloured shirt, and Easton's white apron and jacket.On the back of a chair at one side of the fire more clothes were drying.At the other side on the floor was a wicker cradle in which a baby was sleeping.
Nearby stood a chair with a towel hung on the back, arranged so as to shade the infant's face from the light of the lamp.An air of homely comfort pervaded the room; the atmosphere was warm, and the fire blazed cheerfully over the whitened hearth.
They walked softly over and stood by the cradle side looking at the child; as they looked the baby kept moving uneasily in its sleep.Its face was very flushed and its eyes were moving under the half-closed lids.Every now and again its lips were drawn back slightly, showing part of the gums; presently it began to whimper, drawing up its knees as if in pain.
`He seems to have something wrong with him,' said Easton.
`I think it's his teeth,' replied the mother.`He's been very restless all day and he was awake nearly all last night.'
`P'r'aps he's hungry.'
`No, it can't be that.He had the best part of an egg this morning and I've nursed him several times today.And then at dinner-time he had a whole saucer full of fried potatoes with little bits of bacon in it.'
Again the infant whimpered and twisted in its sleep, its lips drawn back showing the gums: its knees pressed closely to its body, the little fists clenched, and face flushed.Then after a few seconds it became placid: the mouth resumed its usual shape; the limbs relaxed and the child slumbered peacefully.
`Don't you think he's getting thin?' asked Easton.`It may be fancy, but he don't seem to me to be as big now as he was three months ago.'
`No, he's not quite so fat,' admitted Ruth.`It's his teeth what's wearing him out; he don't hardly get no rest at all with them.'
They continued looking at him a little longer.Ruth thought he was a very beautiful child: he would be eight months old on Sunday.They were sorry they could do nothing to ease his pain, but consoled themselves with the reflection that he would be all right once those teeth were through.
`Well, let's have some tea,' said Easton at last.
Whilst he removed his wet boots and socks and placed them in front of the fire to dry and put on dry socks and a pair of slippers in their stead, Ruth half filled a tin basin with hot water from the boiler and gave it to him, and he then went to the scullery, added some cold water and began to wash the paint off his hands.This done he returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table.
`I couldn't think what to give you to eat tonight,' said Ruth as she poured out the tea.`I hadn't got no money left and there wasn't nothing in the house except bread and butter and that piece of cheese, so I cut some bread and butter and put some thin slices of cheese on it and toasted it on a place in front of the fire.I hope you'll like it: it was the best I could do.'
`That's all right: it smells very nice anyway, and I'm very hungry.'
As they were taking their tea Easton told his wife about Linden's affair and his apprehensions as to what might befall himself.They were both very indignant, and sorry for poor old Linden, but their sympathy for him was soon forgotten in their fears for their own immediate future.
