But her heart almost failed her, when, on entering the kitchen, she saw how the chairs and Miss Grundy's shoulders danced round.

She well knew that something was wrong, and attributing it to Alice's crying, she awaited in silence for the storm to burst.
"Rind," said Miss Grundy to the girl with crooked feet, who was washing the milk-pail, "ain't there nary spare room in the dark passage ?" "None but the wool room, as I know on," was Rind's sullen response.
"Well, wool room 'tis then,--for, as for my being kep' awake night after night, by a good for nothin' young one, that hain't no business here, any way, I shan't do it.

So (speaking to Mary) you may just pick up your duds and move this very morning." "Going to put 'em in with the wool ?" asked Rind, suspending operations, and holding up the pail so that the water ran out of the spout.
"You shet up," said Miss Grundy, "and wait until you're invited to speak.

Goodness alive, look at that slop! Tip up the pail, quick." By this time Mary had found courage to say she thought Alice would be better if she could have her usual bath every morning.

This only increased Miss Grundy's wrath, and she whirled round so swiftly, that her forehead came in contact with the sharp edge of the cellar door, which chanced to be open.
"Good," softly whispered Rind, while the shuffling motion of her club feet showed how pleased she was.
Mary, on the contrary, was really distressed, for she knew the bumped head would be charged to her, and felt sure that she was further than ever from the attainment of her object.