Then she went
into the buttery to skim the cream. This was a part of the
work she liked. It was heavy lifting the pans of milk to the
skimming shelf before the window, but as Ellen drew her spoon
round the edge of the cream, she liked to see it wrinkle up in
thick, yellow, leathery folds, showing how deep and rich it
was — it looked half butter already. She knew how to take it
off now, very nicely. The cream was set by in a vessel for
future churning, and the milk, as each pan was skimmed, was
poured down the wooden trough, at the left of the window,
through which it went into a great hogshead at the lower
kitchen door.
This done, Ellen went up stairs to her aunt. Dr. Gibson always
came early, and she and her room must be put in apple-pie
order first. It was a long, wearisome job. Ellen brought the
basin for her, to wash her face and hands; then combed her
hair, and put on her clean cap. That was always the first
thing. The next was to make the bed; and for this Miss
Fortune, weak or strong, wrapped herself up and tumbled out
upon the floor. When she was comfortably placed again, Ellen
had to go through a laborious dusting of the room and all the
things in it, even taking a dustpan and brush to the floor, if
any speck of dust or crumbs could be seen there. Every rung of
every chair must be gone over, though never so clean; every
article put up or put out of the way; Miss Fortune made the
most of the little province of housekeeping that was left her;
and a fluttering tape, escaping through the crack of the door,
would have put her whole spirit topsy-turvy.
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