As I knew nothing of the cost of the necessaries of
life, I went, by Mr. Andrewes' advice, to Nurse Bundle for help.
"What do beef and mutton cost?" was my first question, as I sat with
an important air at the nursery table, slate in hand.
"Now bless the dear boy's innocence?" cried Mrs. Bundle. "You may
leave the beef and mutton, love. It's not much meat a family gets
that's reared on nine shillings a week."
After a series of calculations for oatmeal-porridge, onion-potage, and
other modest dainties, during which Mrs. Bundle constantly fell back
on the "bits of things in the garden," I said decidedly--
"They can't have any clothes, so it's no good thinking about it."
"Children can't be let go bare-backed," said Mrs. Bundle, with equal
decision. "She must take in washing. For in all reason, boots can't be
expected to come out of nine shillings a week, and as many mouths to
feed."
"She must take in washing, sir," I announced with a resigned air, and
the old-fashioned gravity peculiar to me, when I returned to the
Rectory next day. "Boots can't come out of nine shillings a week."
The Rector smiled.
"And suppose one of the boys catches a fever, as you did; and they
can't have other people's clothes to the house, because of the
infection.
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