"I don't 'old with cockes feathers and fal-de-dals on 'umble folk myself, not but what I could afford 'em if I liked, being of saving 'abits and a receiver of good wages.

But I'm a friendly pusson and not 'ard on a good-lookin' gal, not that you are what I call 'andsome." Susan seated beside the table, looked weary and forlorn, and the good-natured heart of the cook was touched, especially when Susan requested her to refrain from the stiff name of Miss Grant.
"You an' me will be good friends, I've no doubt," said Emily, "an' you can call me Mrs.Pill, that being the name of my late 'usband, who died of gin in excess.

The other servants is housemaid and page, though to be sure he's more of a man-of-all-work, being forty if he's a day, and likewise coachman, when he drives out Miss Loach in her donkey carriage.

Thomas is his name, my love." The cook was rapidly becoming more and more friendly, "and the housemaid is called Geraldine, for which 'eaven forgives her parents, she bein' spotty and un'ealthy and by no means a Bow-Bell's 'eroine, which 'er name makes you think of.
But there's a dear, I'm talking brilliant, when you're dying for a cup of tea, and need to get your box unpacked, by which I mean that I sees the porter with the barrer." The newly-arrived parlor-maid was pleased by this friendly if ungrammatical reception, and thought she would like the cook in spite of her somewhat tiresome tongue.

For the next hour she was unpacking her box and arranging a pleasant little room at the back.