From morning till night she was kept busy, with hardly a moment to rest except at meal-times. Only after dinner in the evening had she an hour or two to herself, and then she used to go and sit in the big open fireplace on a low stool close to the smouldering wood cinders, and, with her head resting on her hands, think of her hard lot, and of the happy days that were gone by.
During the first six months she had no companion except the little scullery-maid, who always seemed to have a cold in her nose, and who was not very good company at the best of times. When this maid left, Ella was allowed to go into the drawing-room now and then to read to the sisters, or to do a bit of embroidery.
“I hope, child,” said Mistress Euphronia on one of these occasions, “that you realize how fortunate you are in being allowed to improve your mind by reading books and by listening to good music!” (By good music she meant her singing to Charlotte’s accompaniment on the harpsichord. She made the most dreadful noises.) “But I’ll warrant,” she went on, “that you are much happier downstairs with your pots and pans, or sitting among the cinders. Come, confess now, are you not happier so?”
“Yes,” said Ella quietly.
For some reason this reply seemed to make Euphronia very angry, and the next night, when Ella went up into the drawing-room, she said with a spiteful smile, “I have found a new name for you. In future I shall call you Cinderslut because of your nasty habit of sitting
