"
"At the _spout_ — what is that, pray?"
"The spout of water, Ma’am, just down a little way from the
kitchen door. The water comes in a little, long, very long,
trough from a spring at the back of the pig-field; and at the
end of the trough, where it pours out, is the spout."
"Have you no conveniences for washing in your room?"
"Not a sign of such a thing, Ma’am. I have washed at the spout
ever since I have been here," said Ellen, laughing in spite of
her vexation.
"And do the pigs share the water with you?"
"The pigs! Oh, no, Ma’am; the trough is raised up from the
ground on little heaps of stones; they can't get at the water,
unless they drink at the spring, and I don't think they do
that, so many big stones stand around it."
"Well, Ellen, I must say that is rather uncomfortable, even
without any danger of four-footed society."
"It isn't so bad just now," said Ellen, "in this warm weather;
but in that cold time we had a week or two back — do you
remember, Miss Alice? — just before the Indian summer began? —
oh, how disagreeable it was! Early in the morning, you know;
the sun scarcely up, and the cold wind blowing my hair and my
clothes all about; and then that board before the spout that I
have to stand on, is always kept wet by the spattering of the
water, and it's muddy besides, and very slippery — there's a
kind of green stuff comes upon it; and I can't stoop down for
fear of muddying myself; I have to tuck my clothes round me
and bend over as well as I can, and fetch up a little water to
my face in the hollow of my hand, and of course I have to do
that a great many times before I get enough.
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