 Chapter 20 A Cure for Low Spirits of Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper From some cause real or imaginary I felt low-spirited. There was a cloud upon my feelings and I could not smile as usual nor speak in a tone of cheerfulness. As a natural result, the light of my countenance being gone, all things around me were in a shadow. My husband was sober and had but little to say. The children would look strangely at me when I answered their questions or spoke to them for any purpose, and the domestics moved about in a quiet manner, and when they addressed me did so in a tone more subdued than usual. This reaction upon my state only made darker the clouds that veiled my spirits. I was conscious of this and was conscious that the original cause of depression was entirely inadequate in itself to produce the result which had followed. Under this feeling I made an effort to rally myself, but in vain, and sank lower, from the struggle to rise above the gloom that overshadowed me. When my husband came home at dinner time I tried to meet him with a smile, but I felt that the light upon my countenance was feeble and of brief duration. He looked at me earnestly and in his kind and gentle way inquired if I felt no better, expecting to believe that my ailment was one of the body instead of the mind. But I scarcely answered him, and I could see that he felt hurt. How much more wretched did I become at this? Could I have then retired to my chamber and alone given my heart full vent in a passion of tears? I might have obtained relief to my feelings, but I could not do this. While I sat at the table forcing a little food into my mouth for appearance's sake, my husband said, You remember the fine lad who was been with me for some time? I nodded my head, but the question did not awaken in my mind the least interest. He has not made his appearance for several days, and I learned this morning on sending to the house of his mother that he is very ill. Ah! was my indifferent response. Had I spoken what was in my mind I would have said, I am sorry, but I can't help it. I did not at the moment feel the smallest interest in the lad. Yes, added my husband, and the person who called to let me know about it expressed his fears that Edward would not get up again. What ails him? I inquired. I did not clearly understand, but he has a fever of some kind. He remember his mother very well. Oh yes, you know she worked for me. Edward is her only child, I believe. Yes, and his loss to her will be almost everything. Is he dangerous? I inquired, a feeling of interest, beginning to stir in my heart. He is not expected to live. Poor woman! How distressed she must be! I wonder what her circumstances are just at this time. She seemed very poor when she worked for me. And she is very poor still, I doubt not. She has herself been sick, and during the time it is more than probable that Edward's wages were all her income. I am afraid she has not now the means of procuring for her sick boy things necessary for his comfort. Could you not go around there this afternoon and see how they are? I shook my head instantly at this proposition for sympathy for others was not strong enough to expel my selfish despondency of mind. Then I must step around, replied my husband, before I go back to business, although I have a great deal to do to-day. Edward would not be right to neglect this lad and his mother under present circumstances. I felt rebuked at these words, and with an effort said, I will go. It will be much better for you to see them than for me, returned my husband, for you can understand their wants better and minister to them more effectually if they need any comforts I would like to have you see them supplied. It still cost me an effort to get ready, but as I had promised to do as my husband wished, the effort had to be made. By the time I was prepared to go out I felt something better. The exertion I was required to make tended to disperse slightly, the clouds that hung over me, and as they began gradually to remove my thoughts turned with an awakened interest towards the object of my husband's solicitude. All was silent within the humble abode to which my errand led me. I knocked lightly and in a few moments the mother of Edward opened the door. She looked pale and anxious. How is your son, Mrs. Ellis? I inquired as I stepped in. He is very low, ma'am. She replied. Not dangerous, I hope. The fever has left him, but he is as weak as an infant. All his strength is gone. But proper nourishment will restore him, now that the disease is broken. So the doctor says, but I'm afraid it's too late. He seems to be sinking every hour. Will you walk up and see him? I followed Mrs. Ellis upstairs and into a chamber where the sick boy lay. I was not surprised at the fear she expressed when I saw Edward's pale, sunken face and hollow, almost expressionless eyes. He scarcely noticed my entrance. Poor boy! sighed his mother. He has had a very sick spell. My liveliest interest was at once awakened. He has been sick indeed, I replied, as I laid my hand upon his white forehead. I found his skin cold and damp. The fever had nearly burned out the vital energy of his system. Do you give him much nourishment? He takes a little barley water. Has not the doctor ordered wine? Yes, ma'am, replied Mrs. Ellis, but she spoke with an air of hesitation. He says a spoonful of good wine three or four times a day would be very good for him. And you have not to give him any. No, ma'am. We have some very pure wine that we always keep for sickness. If you will step over to our house and tell Ellis to give you a bottle of it, I will stay with Edward until you return. How brightly glowed that poor woman's face as my words fell upon her ears. Oh, ma'am, you are very kind, said she, but it will be asking too much of you to stay here. You didn't ask it, Mrs. Ellis. I simply replied, I have offered to stay, so do you go for the wine as quickly as you can, for Edward needs it very much. I was not required to say more. In a few minutes I was alone with a sick boy, who lay almost as still as if death were resting upon his half-closed eyelids. To some extent, during the half-hour I remained thus in that hushed chamber, to die I realized the condition and feelings of the poor mother, whose only son lay gasping at the very door of death, and all my sympathies were in consequence awakened. As soon as Mrs. Ellis returned with the wine, about a teaspoonful was deluded, and the glass containing it placed to the sick lad's lips. The moment its flavor touched his palate, a thrill seemed to pass through his frame, and he swallowed eagerly. It does him good, said I, speaking warmly, and from an impulse that made my heart glow. We sat and looked with silent interest upon the boy's face, and we did not look in vain for something like warmth came upon his wane cheeks, and when I placed my hand upon his forehead the coldness and dampness were gone. The wine had quickened his languid pulse. I stayed an hour longer, and then another spoonful of the generous wine was given. Its effect was as marked as the first. I then withdrew from the humble home of the widow and her only child, promising to see them again in the morning. When I regained the street and my thoughts for a moment reverted to myself, how did I find all changed? The clouds had been dispersed, the heavy load had been raised for my bosom. I walked with a free step. Sympathy for others, and active efforts to do others good, had expelled the evil spirit from my heart, and now serene peace had there again her quiet habitation. There was light in every part of my dwelling when I re-entered it, and I sung cheerfully as I prepared with my own hands a basket of provisions for the poor widow. When my husband returned again in the evening he found me at work cheerfully, in my family and all bright and smiling again. The efforts to do good to others had driven away the darkness from my spirit, and the sunshine was again in my countenance and reflected from every member of my household. Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper by T. S. Arthur Chapter 21 A Bargain I am not much of a bargain-buyer, having had, like most housekeepers, sufficient experience on that subject to effect a pretty thorough cure of the disease, mild as it was in the beginning. As all diseases, whether bodily or mental, leave behind them a predisposition to return, I have, from time to time, been subjected to slight paroxysms of the old complaint. From the effects of my last rather mild attack I am now recovering. I was passing along Walnut Street, on my way to drop a letter in the post office one morning, about ten o'clock when the ringing of an auctioneer's bell came suddenly on my ears. Lifting my eyes I saw the flag of thommess and sun displayed before me and read the words, auction this morning. Here was an exciting cause, as the doctors say, and instantly I felt a movement of the old affection. Two or three ladies happened to be entering the store at the time, and the sudden inclination to follow them was so strong that I did not attempt its resistance. It was not my intention to buy anything of course, for I was conscious of no particular want. I only just wished, if any wish were really full formed, to see what was to be sold. Scarcely had I entered the door when a sofa so nearly knew that it hardly bore a mark of having been used, presented itself and captivated my fancy, the one that graced our parlor had grown somewhat out of fashion. It was in good keeping, but rather plain in style, and, as we had recently treated ourselves to hand some new carpets, did not appear to quite so good advantage as before. This one, to be sold at auction, was made after a newer pattern, and, as my eyes continued to rest upon it, the desires to have it in my parlor was fully formed. I have said that on entering the auction store I was unconscious of any particular want. This was true, notwithstanding Mr. Smith, and I had a few days before called at a cabinet-maker's wear-room to look at a sofa. In consequence of former experience in cheap furniture, we had no thought of getting a low-priced article from a second or third-rate establishment, but designed, when we did purchase, to act wisely and get the best. We had been looking at a sofa for which sixty-five dollars was asked, and were hesitating between that and another upon which fifty dollars was set as the price. It was but natural, under these circumstances, that I should look upon the sofa with more than ordinary interest. A glance told me that it was an article of superior make and a close examination fully confirmed this impression. A few minutes after my entrance the sale begun, and it so happened that the sofa came first on the list. We shall begin this morning, said the auctioneer, with a superior fashionable sofa made by. It has only been in use a short time, and is in every respect equal to new. All my predilections in favour of the sofa were confirmed the moment the manufacturer's name was announced. Of course it was of the best material and workmanship. What is bid for the superior sofa made by, blank, went on the salesman, seventy-five dollars, sixty-five, sixty-fifty, five-fifty, forty-five, forty-thirty-five, thirty? Twenty-five dollars, said a timid voice. Twenty-five, twenty-five, cried the auctioneer. Twenty-six, said I. The first bidder advanced a dollar on this, then I bid twenty-eight. He went up to twenty-nine, and I made it thirty, at which offer the sofa was knocked down to me. That's a bargain, and no mistake, said the salesman. It is worth fifty dollars if it's worth a cent. I'll give you five dollars advance. Proposed a lady by my side who had desired to bid, but could not bring up her courage to the point. No, thank you, was my prompt answer. I was too well pleased with my bargain. Mr. Smith came home to dinner on that day. I met him in the parlor. What do you think of this? said I, pointing to the new sofa. I spoke in an exultant voice. Where in the world did it come from? inquired Mr. Smith, evincing a natural surprise. I bought it, was my reply. When? Where? This morning at auction. At auction? Yes, and it's a bargain. Now guess what I gave for it? Ten dollars? Now Mr. Smith, but come be serious. Isn't it cheap at forty dollars? Mr. Smith examined the sofa with care and then gave it, as his opinion, that it wasn't dear at forty dollars. I got it for thirty, said I. Indeed, I should really call that a bargain, provided you don't discover in it after a while some defect. I've looked at every part over and over again, was my response to this, and can find a defect nowhere. None exists, I am satisfied. Time will show, remarked Mr. Smith. There was the smallest perceptible doubt in his tone. Next morning, on going into my parlours, I was a little worried to see two or three moths flying about the room. They were dispatched with commendable quickness. When the morning that followed the same thing occurred again, and this was repeated morning after morning. Moreover in a few days these insects, so dreaded by housekeepers, showed themselves in the chambers above. Up to this time I had neglected to put away my furs, a new set of which had been purchased during the previous winter. I had delayed this no longer. House cleaning time had now arrived. My new carpets were taken up and packed away to give place to the cooler matting. Our winter clothing also received attention, and was deposited in chests and closets for the summer, duly provided with all needful protection from moths. After this came the calm of rest and self-satisfaction. One day, about the middle of July, a lady friend called in to see me. That's a neat sofa, Mrs. Smith, said she, in the pause of a conversation. I think it's very neat, was my answer. It's made from the same pattern with one that I had, one that I always liked, and from which I was sorry to part. You sold it, said I. Yes, I sent it to auction. Ah, why so? I discovered this spring that the moth had got into it. Indeed. Yes, they showed themselves every day in such numbers in my parvours that I became alarmed for my carpets. I soon traced their origin to the sofa which was immediately packed off to auction. I was sorry to part with it, but there was no other effective remedy. You lost on the sale, I presume, I ventured to remark. Yes, that was to be expected. It cost sixty dollars and brought only thirty, but this loss was to be preferred to the destruction such an army of moth as it was sending forth would have occasioned. I changed the subject exterously, having heard quite enough about the sofa, to satisfy me that my bargain was likely to prove a bad one. All the summer I was troubled with visions of moth-eaten carpets, furs, shawls, and overcoats, and they proved to be only the foreshadowing of real things to come for, when in the fall, the contents of old chests, boxes, drawers, and dark closets were brought forth to the light. A state of affairs truly frightful to a housekeeper was presented. One of the breaths of my handsome carpet had the piles so eaten off in conspicuous places that no remedy was left but the purchase and substitution of a new one, at a cost of nearly ten dollars. In dozens of places the texture of the carpet was eaten entirely through. I was, as my lady-readers may naturally suppose, very unhappy at this. But the evil by no means found a limit here. On opening my fur boxes I found that the work of destruction had been going on there also. A single shake of the moth threw little fibres and flakes of fur in no stinted measure upon the air, and on dashing my hand hard against it a larger mass was detached, showing the skin bare and white beneath. My furs were ruined. They had cost seventy dollars and were not worth ten. A still further examination into our stock of winter clothing showed that the work of destruction had extended to almost every article. Scarcely anything had escaped. Troubled, worried, and unhappy as I was I yet concealed from Mr. Smith the origin of all this ruin. He never suspected our cheap sofa for a moment. After I had by slow degrees recovered from my chagrin and disappointment my thoughts turned naturally upon a disposition of the sofa. What was to be done with it? As to keeping it over another season that was not to be thought of for a moment. But would it be right I asked myself to send it back to auctions and let it thus go into the possession of some housekeeper as ignorant of its real character as I had been? I found it very hard to reconcile my conscience to such a disposition of the sofa. And there was still another difficulty in the way. What excuse for parting with it could I make to Mr. Smith? He had never suspected that article to be the origination of all the mischief and loss we had sustained. Winter began drawing to a close and still the sofa remained in its place, and still was I in perplexity as to what should be done with it. Business requires me to go to Charleston, said Mr. Smith one day late in February. How long will you be away, was my natural inquiry. From ten days to two weeks, replied Mr. Smith. So long as that. It will hardly be possible to get home earlier than the time I have mentioned. You go in the osprey? Yes, she sails day after tomorrow, so you will have all ready for me, if you please. Never before had the announcement of my husband that he had to go away on business, given me pleasure. The moment he said that he would be absent of the remedy for my difficulty suggests it itself. The very day Mr. Smith sailed in the steamer for Charleston I sent for an upholsterer, and after explaining to him the defect connected with my sofa, directed him to have the seating all removed and then replaced by new materials, taking particular care to thoroughly cleanse the inside of the woodwork, lest the vestige of a moth should be left remaining. All this was done at a cost of twenty dollars. When Mr. Smith returned, the sofa was back in its place, and he was none the wiser for the change, until some months afterwards, when unable to keep the secret any longer, I told him the whole story. I am pretty well cured, I think now, of bargain buying. There are few housekeepers who have not had their sick and peevish days. I have had mine, as the reader will see by the following story, which I sometimes since ventured to relate in the third person, and which I now take the liberty of introducing into these confessions. It is too bad, Rachel, to put me to all this trouble, and you know I can hardly hold up my head. Thus spoke Mr. Smith in a peevish voice, to a quiet looking domestic who had been called up from the kitchen to supply some unimportant omission in the breakfast table arrangement. Rachel looked hurt and rebuked, but made no reply. How could you speak in that way to Rachel? said Mr. Smith as soon as the domestic had withdrawn. If you felt just as I do, Mr. Smith, you would speak cross to. Mrs. Smith replied a little warmly. I feel just like a rag, and my head aches as if it would burst. I know you feel badly, and I am very sorry for you, but still, I suppose it is as easy to speak kindly as harshly. Rachel is very obliging and attentive, and should be born with inocational omissions, which you, of course, know are not willful. It is easy enough to preach, retorted Mrs. Smith, whose temper from bodily lastitude and pain was in quite an irritable state. The reader will understand at least one of the reasons of this, when he is told that the scene here presented occurred during the last oppressive week in August. Mr. Smith said no more. He saw that to do so would only be to provoke instead of quieting his wife's ill humor. The morning meal went by in silence, but little food passing the lips of either. How could it, when the thermometer was ninety-four at eight o'clock in the morning, and the leaves upon the trees were as motionless as if suspended in a vacuum? Bodies and minds were relaxed, and the one turned from food as the other did from thought, with an instinctive aversion. After Mr. Smith had left his home for his place of business, Mrs. Smith went up into her chamber and threw herself upon the bed, her head still continuing to ache with great violence. It so happened that a week before the chambermaid had gone away sick, and all the duties of the household had in consequence devolved upon Rachel herself not very well. Cheerfully, however, had she endeavored to discharge these accumulated duties, and but for the unhappy, peevish state of mind in which Mrs. Smith indulged, would have discharged them without a murmuring thought. But, as she was a faithful, conscientious woman, and withal sensitive in her feelings to be found fought with, worried her exceedingly. Of this, Mrs. Smith was well aware and had, until the latter part of the trying month of August, acted towards Rachel with consideration and forbearance. But the last week of August was too much for her. The sickness of the chambermaid through such heavy duties upon Rachel, whose daily headaches and nervous relaxation of body were born without a complaint that their perfect performance was almost impossible. Slight omissions, which were next to unavoidable under the circumstances, became so annoying to Mrs. Smith herself, as it has been seen, laboring under great bodily and mental prostration that she could not bear them. She knows better, and she could do better if she chose, was her rather uncharitable comment, often inwardly made on the occurrence of some new trouble. After Mr. Smith had taken his departure on the morning just referred to, Mrs. Smith went up into her chamber as has been seen, and threw herself languidly upon a bed, pressing her hands to her throbbing temples, as she did so, and a murmuring, I can't live at this rate. At the same time Rachel sat down in the kitchen, the large waiter upon which she had arranged the dishes from the breakfast table, and then, sinking into a chair, pressed one hand upon her forehead, and sat for more than a minute in troubled silence. It had been three days since she had received from Mrs. Smith a pleasant word, and the last remark made to her a short time before had been the unkindest of all. At another time, even all this would not have moved her, she could have perceived that Mrs. Smith was not in a right state, that lassitude of body had produced a temporary infirmity of mind. But, being herself affected by the oppressive season almost as much as her mistress, she could not make these allowances, while still seated that chamber bell was rung with a quick startling jerk. What next? Peavishly ejaculated Rachel, and then slowly proceeded to obey the summons. How could you leave my chamber in such a condition as this? Was a salutation that met her ear as she entered the presence of Mrs. Smith, who, half raised upon the bed and leaning upon her hand, looked the very personification of languor, peavishness, and ill-humour. You had plenty of time while we were eating breakfast to have put things a little to rights. To this Rachel made no reply, but turned away and went back into the kitchen. She had scarcely reached that spot before the bell rang again louder and quicker than before, but she did not answer it. In about three minutes it was jerked with an energy that snapped the wire. But Rachel was immovable. Five minutes elapsed, and then Mrs. Smith, fully aroused from the lethargy that had stolen over her, came down with a quick firm step. What's the reason you didn't answer my bell, say? She asked in an excited voice. Rachel did not reply. Do you hear me? Rachel had never been so treated before. She had lived with Mrs. Smith for three years, and had rarely been found fault with. She had been too strict in regard to the performance of her duty to leave much room for even a more exacting mistress to find fault. But now, to be over-tasked and sick and to be chidden, rebuked and even angrily assailed was more than she could well bear. She did not suffer herself to speak for some moments, and then her voice trembled and the tears came out upon her cheeks. I wish you to get another in my place. I find I don't suit you. My time will be up day after tomorrow. Very well was Mrs. Smith's firm reply as she turned away and left the kitchen. Here was trouble in good earnest. Often and often had Mrs. Smith said during the past two or three years, what should I do without Rachel? And now she had given notice that she was going to leave her, and under circumstances which made pride for bitter requests to stay. Determined to act out her part of the business with firmness and decision, she dressed herself and went out, hot and oppressive as it was, and took her away to an intelligence office where she paid the required fee and directed a cook and chambermaid to be sent to her. On the next morning about ten o'clock an Irish girl came and offered herself as a cook, and was after sundry questions and answers engaged. So soon as this negotiation was settled, Rachel retired from the kitchen, leaving the newcomer in full possession. In half an hour after she received her wages and left, in no very happy frame of mind, a home that had been for three years until within a few days a pleasant one. As for Mrs. Smith, she was ready to go to bed sick, but this was impracticable. Nancy, the new cook, had expressly stipulated that she was to have no duties unconnected with the kitchen. The consequence was that, notwithstanding the thermometer ranged above ninety, and the atmosphere remained a sultrious air from a heated oven, Mrs. Smith was compelled to arrange her chamber and parlours. By the time this was done, she was in a condition to go to bed and lie until dinner time. The arrival of this important period brought new troubles and vexations. Dinner was late by forty minutes and then came on the table in a most abominable condition. A fine sirloin was burnt to a crisp, the tomatoes were smoked and the potatoes watery. As if this were not enough to mar the pleasure of the dinner hour for a hungry husband, Mrs. Smith added there too a distressed countenance and discouraging complaints. Nancy was grumbled too and scolded every time she had occasion to appear in the room, and her single attempt to excuse herself on account of not understanding the cook's stuff was met by, do hush will you I am out of all patience. As to the latter part of the sentence that was a needless waste of words, the condition of mind she described was fully apparent. About three o'clock in the afternoon, just as Mrs. Smith had found a temporary relief from a troubled mind and a most intolerable headache in sleep, a tap on the chamber door awoke her, there stood Nancy, all equipped for going out. I find I won't suit you, ma'am, said Nancy, and so you must look out for another girl. Having said this, she turned away and took her departure, leaving Mrs. Smith in a state of mind as it is said, more easily imagined than described. Oh, dear, what shall I do? At length broke from her lips as she burst into tears and burying her face in the pillow soft aloud. Already she had repented of her fretfulness and fault-finding temper, as displayed towards Rachel, and could she have made a truce with pride or silenced its whispers, would have sent for her well-tried domestic and endeavored to make all fair with her again. But under the circumstances this was now impossible, while yet undetermined how to act the street bell rang, and she was compelled to attend the door as she was now alone in the house. She found on opening it a rough-looking country girl who asked if she were the lady who wanted a chambermaid. Any kind of help was better than none at all, and so Mrs. Smith asked the young woman to walk in. In treating with her in regard to her qualifications for the situation she applied for, she discovered that she knew almost nothing at all about anything. The stipulation that she was to be a doer of all work in general until a cook could be obtained was readily agreed to, and then she was shown to her room in the attic, where she prepared herself for entering upon her duties. Will you please, ma'am, show me what you want me to do, asked the new help presenting herself before Mrs. Smith. Go into the kitchen, Ellen, and see that the fire is made. I'll be down there presently. To be compelled to see after a new and ignorant servant and direct her in everything, just at, so trying a season of the year and while her mind was all out of sorts, was a severe task for poor Mrs. Smith. She found that Ellen, as she had too good reason for believing, was totally unacquainted with kitchen work. She did not even know how to kindle a cold fire, nor could she manage the stove after Mrs. Smith had made the fire for her. All this did not in any way tend to make her less unhappy or more patient than before. On retiring for the night, she had a high fever which continued unabated until morning, when her husband found her really ill, so much so as to make the attendance of a doctor necessary. A change in the air had taken place during the night, and the temperature had fallen many degrees. This aided the efforts of the physician and enabled him, so to adapt his remedies as to speedily break the fever. But the ignorance and awkwardness of Ellen apparent in her attempts to arrange her bed and chamber, so worried her mind that she was near-relapsing into her former feverish and excited state. The attendance of an elder maiden sister was just in time. All care was taken from her thoughts, and she had a chance of recovering a more healthy tone of mind and body. During the next week she knew little or nothing of how matters were progressing out of her own chamber. A new cook had been hired of whom she was pleased to hear good accounts, although she had not seen her, and Ellen, under the mild and judicious instruction of her sister, had learned to make up a bed neatly, to sweep and dust in true style, and to perform all the little etc. of chamber work greatly to her satisfaction. She was likewise good tempered, willing, and to all appearances strictly trustworthy. One morning, about a week after she had become too ill to keep up, she found herself so far recovered as to be able to go downstairs to breakfast. Everything upon the table she found arranged in the neatest style. The food was well cooked, especially some tender rice cakes of which she was very fond. Really these are delicious! said she, as the finely flavored cakes almost melted in her mouth. And this coffee is just a thing! How fortunate we have been to obtain so good a cook! I was afraid we should never be able to replace Rachel, but even she is equaled if not surpassed. Still she does not surpass Rachel, said Mr. Smith a little gravely. Rachel was a treasure. Indeed she was, and I have been sorry enough I ever let her go, returned Mrs. Smith. At that moment a new cook entered with a plate of warm cakes. Rachel! ejaculated Mrs. Smith, letting her knife and fork fall. How do you do? I am glad to see you. Welcome home again! As she spoke quickly and earnestly she held out her hand, and grasped that of her old domestic warmly. Rachel could not speak, but as she left the room she put her apron to her eyes. Hers were not the only ones dim with rising moisture. For at least a year to come both Mrs. Smith and her excellent cook will have no cause to complain of each other. How they will get along during the last week of next August we cannot say, but hope the lesson they have both received will teach them to bear and forbear. End of Chapter 22 A Pee-Vish Day and Its Consequences Read by Gaine Day of Bahatrek.com Chapter 23 Words of Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper This is a LibriVox recording. A LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper By T. S. Arthur Chapter 23 Words The foolish thing, said my aunt Rachel speaking warmly, to get hurt at a mere word. It's a little hard that people can't open their lips, but somebody's offended. Words are things, said I, smiling. Very little things, a person must be tender indeed that is hurt by a word. The very lightest thing may hurt if it falls on a tender place. I don't like people who have these tender places, said aunt Rachel. I never get hurt at what is said to me, no, never. To be ever picking and mincing and chopping off your words, to be afraid to say this or that for fear somebody will be offended, I can't abide it. People who have these tender places can't help it, I suppose. This being so, ought we not to regard their weakness? Said I. Pain, either of body or mind, is hard to bear, and we should not inflict it causelessly. People who are so wonderfully sensitive, replied aunt Rachel, growing warmer, ought to shut themselves up at home and not come among sensible good temperate persons. As far as I am concerned, I can tell them, one and all, that I am not going to pick out every hard word from a sentence as carefully as I would seed from a raisin. Let them crack them with their teeth if they are afraid to swallow them whole. Now, for all that aunt Rachel went on, after this train, she was a kind good soul in the main, and I could see was sorry for having hurt the feelings of Mary Lane, but she didn't like to acknowledge that she was in the wrong, that would detract too much from the self complacency with which she regarded herself. Knowing her character very well, I thought it best not to continue the little argument about the importance of words, and so changed the subject. But every now and then aunt Rachel would return to it, each time softening a little towards Mary. At last she said, I am sure it was a little thing, a very little thing, she might have known that nothing unkind was intended on my part. There are some subjects, aunt, I replied, to which we cannot bear the slightest illusion, and a sudden reference to them is very apt to throw us off of our guard. What you said to Mary has, in all probability, touched some weakness of character or probed some wound that time has been able to heal. I have always thought her a sensible good-natured girl. And so have I, but I really cannot think that she has shown her good sense or good-nature in the present case. It is a very bad failing this, of being oversensitive and exceedingly annoying to one's friends. It is, I know, but still, all of us have a weak point, and when that is assailed we are very apt to betray our feelings. Well, I say now as I've always said I don't like to have anything to do with people who have these weak points. This being hurt by a word as if words were blows is something that does not come within the range of my sympathies. And yet, aunt, said I, all have weak points, even you are not entirely free from them. Me? Aunt Rachel bridled. Yes, and if even as light a thing as the word were to fall upon them you would suffer pain. Pray, ma'am, said Aunt Rachel with much dignity of manner, she was chafed by my words, light as they were. Inform me where these weaknesses of which you are pleased to speak lie. Oh no, you must excuse me, that would be very much out of place, but I only stated a general fact that apportains to all of us. Aunt Rachel looked very grave. I had laid the weight of words upon a weakness of her character, and it had given her pain. That weakness was a peculiarly good opinion of herself. I had made no allegation against her, and there was none in my mind. My words simply expressed the general truth that we all have weaknesses, and included her in their application. But she imagined that I referred to some particular defect or fault, and mail-proof as she was against words they had wounded her. For a day or two Aunt Rachel remained more sober than was her want. I knew the cause, but did not attempt to remove from her mind an impression my words had made. One day, about a week after, I said to her, Aunt Rachel, I saw Mary Lane's mother this morning. Ah! the old lady looked up at me inquiringly. I don't wonder your words hurt the poor girl. I added. Why, what did I say? quickly asked Aunt Rachel. You said that she was a jilt. But I was only in jests, and she knew it. I did not really mean anything. I am surprised that Mary should be so foolish. You will not be surprised when you know all, was my answer. All? What all? I am sure I wasn't an earnest. I didn't mean to hurt the poor girl's feelings. My aunt looked very much troubled. No one blames you, Aunt Rachel, said I. Mary knows you didn't intend wounding her. But why should she take a little word so much to heart? It must have had more truth in it than I supposed. Did you know that Mary refused an offer of marriage from Walter Green last week? Why, no, it can't be possible. Refused Walter Green? Yes. They've been intimate for a long time. I know. She certainly encouraged him. I think it more than probable. Is it possible, then, that she did really jilt the young men? exclaimed Aunt Rachel. This has been said of her, I replied. But as far as I can learn she was really attached to him, and suffered great pain in rejecting his offer. Wisely she regarded marriage as the most important event of her life, and refused to make so solemn a contract with one in whose principles she had not the fullest confidence. But she ought not to have encouraged Walter if she did not intend marrying him, said Aunt Rachel with some warmth. She encouraged him so long as she thought well of him. A closer view revealed points of character hidden by distance. When she saw these her feelings were already deeply involved. But like a true woman she turned from the proffered hand, even though while in doing so her heart palpitated with pain. There is nothing false about Mary Lane. She could know more trifle with a lover than she could commit a crime. Think, then, how almost impossible it would be for her to hear herself called under existing circumstances even in sport a jilt without being hurt. Words sometimes have power to hurt more than blows. Do you not see this now, Aunt Rachel? Oh yes, yes, I see it, and I saw it before, said the old lady, and in future I will be more careful of my words. It is pretty late in life to learn this lesson, but we are never too late to learn. Poor Mary. It grieves me to think that I should have hurt her so much. Yes, words often have in them a smarting force, and we cannot be too guarded how we use them. Think twice before you speak once. Is a trite, but wise saying. We teach it to our children very carefully, but are too apt to forget that it has not lost its application to ourselves. End of Chapter 23. Words. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper. By T. S. Arthur. Chapter 24. Maybe so. Next time you go out you'll buy me a wagon, won't you, mother? Said my little boy to me one day. I didn't want to say no, and destroy his happy feelings, and I was not prepared to say yes, and so I gave the evasive reply so often used under such circumstances. Maybe so, and which was meant rather as a negative than an affirmative. The child was satisfied for he gave my words the meaning he wished them to have, in a little while after I had forgotten all about it. Not so, my boy. To him the maybe so was yes, and he set his heart confidently on receiving the wagon the next time I should go out. This happened on the afternoon of that very day. It was towards evening when I returned. The moment I rung the bell at my own door I heard his pattering feet and gleeful voice in the entry. Where's my wagon? Said he as I entered a shade of disappointment falling suddenly upon his excited happy face. What wagon, dear? I asked. My wagon. The wagon you promised to buy me. I didn't promise to buy a wagon, my son. Oh yes you did, mother. You promised to me this morning. Tears were already in his eye, and his face wore a look of distressing disappointment. I promised to buy you a wagon. I am sure I remember nothing about it. I replied confidently. What in the world put that into your head? Didn't I ask you? said the child that here is now overflowing his cheeks. Yes, I believe you did ask me something about a wagon, but I didn't promise to buy you one. Oh yes you did, mother. You said maybe so. But maybe so doesn't mean yes. At this the little fellow uttered a distressing cry. His heart was almost broken by disappointment. He had interpreted my words according to his own wishes and not according to their real meaning. Unprepared for an occurrence of this kind, I was not in the mood to sympathize with my child fully. To be met thus at the moment of my return home disturbed me. I didn't promise to buy you a wagon, and you must stop crying about it. Said I, seeing that he had given way to his feelings and was crying in a loud voice. But he cried on. I went up upstairs to lay off my things, and he followed still crying. You must hush now, said I more positively. I cannot permit this. I never promised to buy you a wagon. You said maybe so, sobbed the child. Maybe so and yes are two different things. If I had said that I would buy you a wagon, then there would have been some reason in your disappointment. But I said no such thing. He had paused to listen, but as I ceased speaking his crying was renewed. You must stop this now. There is no use in it, and I will not have it. Said I resolutely. My boy choked down for a few moments at this and half stifled his grief, but or mastering him, it flowed on again as wildly as ever. I felt impatient. Stop this moment, I say. And I took hold of his arm firmly. My will is strong, and when a little excited it often leads me beyond where I would go in moments of reflection. My boy knew this by experience. By my manner of speaking he saw that I was an earnest and that if he did not obey me punishment would follow. So with what must have been a powerful effort, for once so young he stifled the utterance of his grief. But the storm within raged none the less violently, and I could see his little frame quiver, as he strove to repress the rising sobs. Turning away from me he went and sat down on a low seat in a corner of the room. I saw his form in the glass as I stood before it to arrange my hair. After laying aside my bonnet and for the first time my feelings were touched. There was an abandonment in his whole attitude, an air of grief about him that affected me with pity and tenderness. Poor child! I sighed. His heart is almost broken. I ought to have said yes or no, and then all would have been settled. Come! said I, after a few moments reaching my hand towards the child. Let us go down and look out for father. He will be home soon. I spoke kindly and cheerfully, but he neither moved, looked up, nor gave the smallest sign that he heard me. Oh well! said I, with some impatience in my voice. It doesn't matter at all. If you'd rather sit there than come down into the parlour and look out for dear father, you can please yourself. And turning away as I spoke I left the chamber and went downstairs. Sitting myself at the window I looked forth and endeavored to feel unconcerned and cheerful. But this was beyond my power. I saw nothing but the form of my grieving child and could think of nothing but his sorrow and disappointment. Nancy! said I to one of my domestics who happened to come into the parlour to ask me some question. I wish you would run down to the toy store in the next block and buy Neddie a wagon. His heart is almost broken about one. The girl, always willing, when kindly spoke to, ran off to obey my wishes, and in a little while came back with the article wanted. Now, said I, go up into my room and tell Neddie that I've got something for him. Don't mention the wagon. I want to take him by surprise. Nancy went, bounding up the stairs, and I placed the wagon in the centre of the room, where it would meet the child's eyes at the moment of his entrance, and then sat down to await his coming, and enjoy his surprise and delight. After the laughs of about a minute I heard Nancy coming down slowly. Neddie's asleep, said she, looking in at the door. A sleep! I felt, greatly disappointed. Yes, ma'am, he was in the floor asleep. I took him up and laid him in your bed. Then he's over his trouble, said I, attempting to find a relief for my feelings in this utterance, but no such relief came. Taking the wagon in my hand, I went up to the chamber where he lay and bent over him. The signs of grief were still upon his innocent face, and every now and then I faint sigh or sob gave evidence that even sleep had not yet hushed entirely, the storm which had swept over him. Neddie! I spoke to him in a voice of tenderness, hoping that my words might reach his ear. Neddie, dear, I've bought you a wagon. But his senses were locked. Taking him up I undressed him, and then, after kissing his lips, brow and cheeks, laid him in his little bed, and placed the wagon on the pillow beside him. Even until the late hour at which I retired on that evening were my feelings oppressed by the incident I have described. My, may be so, uttered in order to avoid giving the direct answer my child wanted, had occasioned him far more pain than a positive refusal of his request could have done. I will be more careful, in future, said I, as I lay thinking about the occurrence, how I create false hopes. My ye shall be ye and my ne, ne, of these cometh not evil. In the morning when I awoke I found Neddie in possession of his wagon. He was running with it around the room as happy as if a tear had never been upon his cheek. I looked at him for many minutes without speaking. At last seeing that I was awake he bounded up to the bedside and kissing me, said, Thank you, dear mother, for buying me this wagon. You are a good mother. I must own to having felt some doubts on the subject of Neddie's compliment at the time. Since this little experience I have been more careful how I answer the petitions of my children and avoid the, may be so, or I'll see about it and other such evasive answers that come so readily to the lips. The good result I have experienced in many instances. End of Chapter 24, may be so, read by Cain Day of Bartrack.com Chapter 25 The poor child died of trials and confessions of a housekeeper This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper by T. S. Arthur Chapter 25 The poor child died My baby, nine months old, had some fever and seemed very unwell. One neighbor said, You'd better send for the doctor. Another suggested that it had, no doubt, eaten something that disagreed with it and that a little antimonial wine would enable it to throw it off. Another advised a few grains of Calomel and another a dose of rhubarb. But I said, No, I'll wait a little while and see if it won't get better. You should give him medicine in time. Many a person dies from not taking medicine in time. Said a lady who expressed more than usual concern for the well-being of my baby. She had a very sick child herself. Many more die, I replied, from taking medicine too soon. I believe that one half of the diseases in the world are produced by medicines and that the other half are often made worse by their injudicious administration. You'd better send for the doctor, urged the lady. No, I'll wait until the morning and then, if he's no better or should be worse, I'll call in our physician. Children often appear very sick one hour and are comparatively well again in the next. It's a great risk, said the lady gravely. A very great risk. I called in the doctor the moment my dear little Eddie began to droop about, and it's well I did. He's near death's door as it is, and without a medical aid I would certainly have lost him before this. He's only been sick a week, and you know yourself how low he is reduced. Where do you think he would have been without medicine? The disease has taken a terrible hold of him. Why, the doctor has bled him twice and his little chest is raw all over from a blister. He has been cupped and leached. We have had mustard plasters upon his arms and the calves of his legs. I don't know how many grains of chamomile he has taken, and it has salivated him dreadfully. Oh, such a sore mouth. Poor child, he suffers dreadfully. Besides, he has taken some kind of powder almost every hour. They are dreadfully nauseous, and we have to hold him every time and pour them down his throat. Oh, dear, it makes my heart sick. Now, with all this, the disease hangs on almost as bad as ever. Suppose we hadn't sent for the doctor at first. Can't you see what would have been the consequence? It is very wrong to put off calling in a physician upon the first symptoms of a disease. Pardon me, Mrs. Lee, for saying so was my reply, but I cannot help thinking that if you had not called the doctor your child would have been quite well today. Mrs. Lee, that was the lady's name, uttered an exclamation of surprise and disapproval of my remark. But cannot you see yourself that it is not the disease that has reduced your child so low? The bleeding, blistering, cupping, leaching, and chamomile administrations would have done all this, had your child been perfectly well, when it went into the doctor's hands. But the disease would have killed him inevitably. If it requires all this to break it, don't you see that it must have taken a most fatal hold on the poor child's system? No, Mrs. Lee, I cannot see any such thing, was my reply. The medicine probably fixed the disease that would, if left alone, have retired of itself. What does the doctor say ails the child? He does not seem to know. There seems to be a complication of diseases. Produced by the treatment, no doubt, if there had been scarlet fever or smallpox or croup, active and energetic treatment would probably have been required. And the doctor would have known what he was about, in administering his remedies. But in a slight indisposition, like that from which your child suffered, it is, in my opinion, always better to give no medicine for a time. Drugs thrown into the tender system of a child will always produce disease of some kind, more or less severe, and where slight disorders already exist, they are apt to give them a dangerous hold upon the body, or uniting with them cause a most serious and, at times, fatal illness. But Mrs. Lee shook her head. She thought the doctors knew best. They had great confidence in their family physician. He had doctored them through many dangerous attacks, and had always brought them through safely. As to the newfangled notions about giving little or no medicine, she had no confidence in them. Medicine was necessary at times, and she always gave her children medicine at least two or three times a year, whether they were sick or well. Prevention in her eyes was better than cure, and where there was actual sickness, she was in favor of vigorous treatment. One good dose of medicine would do more good than a hundred little ones, with much more to the same effect. On the next morning my dear baby, who was just as sick for a few hours as Mrs. Lee's child was at first, was as well as ever. Not long after breakfast I was sent for by Mrs. Lee. Her poor child was much worse. The servant said that she was sure it was dying. I changed my dress hurriedly and went over to the house of my neighbor. Shall I describe the painful object that met my sight? It was three days since I had seen the little sufferer, but oh, how it had changed in that brief time. Its face was sunken, its eyes far back in their sockets, and its forehead marked with lines of suffering. The whole of its breast was raw from the blister, and its mouth, lying open, showed, with painful distinctness, the dreadful injury wrought by the mercury throne with such a liberal hand into its delicate system. All the life seemed to have withdrawn itself from the skin for the vital forces in the center of its body were acting but feebly. The doctor came in while I was there. He said but little. It was plain that he was entirely at fault and that he saw no hope of a favorable issue. All his active treatment had tended to break down the child rather than cure the disease from which it at first suffered. There was a great deal of heat about the child's head, and he said something about having it shaped for a blister. Wouldn't ice do better, doctor? I felt constrained to suggest. He turned upon me quickly and seemed annoyed. No madame, he replied with dignity. I said no more, for I felt how vain my words would be. The blister, however, was not ordered, but, in its stead, mustard plasters were directed to be placed over the feet and legs to the knees, and a solution of iodine or iron I don't now remember which prescribed to be given every half hour. I went home some time after the doctor left, feeling sick at heart. They are murdering that child. I could not help saying to myself. My own dear babe I found full of health and life, and I hugged it to my breast with a feeling of thankfulness. Before the day closed Mrs. Lee's poor child died. Was it a cause of wonder? End of Chapter 25 The Poor Child Died Chapter 26 The Rival Bonnets of Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper by T. S. Arthur Chapter 26 The Rival Bonnets I have a pleasant story to relate of a couple of fashionables of our city which will serve to diversify these confessions and amuse the reader. To the incidents true in the main I have taken the liberty of adding some slight variations of my own. A lady of some note in society named Mrs. Cloudine received a very beautiful bonnet from New York, a little in advance of others and being one of the rival leaders in the fashionable world felt some self complacency at the thought of appearing abroad in the elegant headgear and thereby getting the reputation of leading the fashion. Notwithstanding Mrs. Cloudine's efforts to keep the matter a secret and thus be able to create a surprise when she appeared at church on the next Sunday, the fact that she had received the bonnet leaked out and there was some excitement about it. Among those who heard of the new bonnet was a Mrs. Ballman who had written to a friend to get for her the very article obtained first by Mrs. Cloudine. For some cause or other a delay had occurred and to her chagrin she learned that a rival had the new fashion and would get a clad that she so much coveted. The disappointment to one whose pleasures in life are so circumscribed as those of a real fashionable lady was severe indeed. She did not sleep more than a few hours on the night after she received the mortifying intelligence. The year before Mrs. Cloudine had led the fashion in some article of dress and to see her carry off the palm in bonnets on this occasion when she had striven so hard to be in advance was more than Mrs. Ballman could endure. The result of a night's thinking on the subject was a determination to pursue a very extraordinary course, the nature of which will be seen. By telegraph Mrs. Ballman communicated with her friend in New York, desiring her to send one by the evening of the next day which was Saturday, the bonnet she had ordered, if four prices had to be paid as an inducement to get the milliner, to use extra exertions in getting it up. In due time notice came back that the bonnet would be sent on by express on Saturday, much to the joy of Mrs. Ballman, who from the interest she felt in carrying out her intentions had entirely recovered from the painful disappointment at first experienced. Saturday brought the bonnet and a beautiful one it was. A few natural sighs were expended over the elegant affair and then other feelings came in to chase away regrets at not having been first to secure the article. On the day previous, Friday, Mrs. Ballman called upon a fashionable milliner and held with her the following conversation. You have heard of Mrs. Cloudine's new bonnet, I presume? Yes, madame, replied the milliner. Do you think it will take? asked Mrs. Ballman. I do. You have not the pattern? Oh, yes, I received one a week ago. You did? Yes, but someone must introduce it. As Mrs. Cloudine is about doing this, there is little doubt of its becoming the fashion, for the style is striking as well as tasteful. Mrs. Ballman moved for some moments. There she drew the milliner aside and said in a low confidential tone, Do you think you could get up a bonnet as handsome as that, and in just as good taste? I know I could. In my last received London and Paris fashions are several bonnets as handsome as the one that is about being adopted in New York, and here also without doubt. I am not so sure of its being adopted here, said the lady. If Mrs. Cloudine introduces it as I understand she intends doing on Sunday, it will certainly be approved and the style followed. I very much doubt it, but we will see. Where are the bonnets you spoke of just now? The milliner brought forth a number of patterned cards and plates and pointed out two bonnets, either of which in her judgment was more beautiful than the one Mrs. Cloudine had received. Far handsomer was the brief remark with which Mrs. Ballman approved the milliner's judgment, and now she added, Can you get me up one of these by Sunday? I will try. Try won't do, said the lady, with some excitement in her manner. I must have the bonnet. Can you make it? Yes. Very well then make it, and let it be done in your very best manner. Why I wish to have this bonnet I need hardly explained to you. I believe that I would have received the bonnet about to be adopted in New York first. I had written to a friend to procure it, but by some means Mrs. Cloudine has obtained it. Her is in advance of me. Mine will be here to-morrow, but I don't mean to wear it. I wish to lead. If you were both to appear in this bonnet the fashion would be decided, said the milliner. I know, but I have no wish to share the honor with Mrs. Cloudine. Make me the bonnet I have selected, and I will see that it puts hers down. You will remember, said the milliner, that hers has been already adopted in New York. This will be almost sure to give it the preference. It would be better that you did not attempt a rivalry than that you should be beaten. But I don't mean to be beaten, replied the lady. I have taken measures to prevent that. After Sunday you will hear no more of the New York bonnet. Mine will go, and this I need not tell you will be a feather in your cap and dollars in your pocket, as I will refer to you as the only one who can get it up. So do your best and improve the pattern we have selected if it will bear improvement. The milliner promised to do her prettiest, and Mrs. Balman returned home in a state of considerable elation at the prospect of carrying off the plan and humiliating her rival at the same time. Mrs. Cloudine, though a little vain and fond of excelling, was a woman of kind feelings and utterly superior to the petty jealousies that annoyed Mrs. Balman, and soured her towards all who succeeded in rivaling her in matters of taste and fashion. Of what was passing in the mind of the lady who had been so troubled at her reception of a new style of bonnet from New York, she was entirely ignorant. She was not even aware that Mrs. Balman had ordered the same article nor that she had suffered a disappointment. Saturday came. Mrs. Cloudine was busy over some little article of dress that was to add to her appearance on the next day when an Irish girl who had formerly lived with her entered her room. Ah, Kitty! said the lady pleasantly. How do you do? I'm right well, Mum, thank ye, replied Kitty with a courtesy. Where do you live now, Kitty? inquired Mrs. Cloudine. I'm living with Mrs. Balman, said the girl. A very good place, I have no doubt. Oh, yes, Mum, it is a good place. I hate much to do baron going out with the children on good days and seen after them in the house, and I get good wages. I'm very good to hear it, Kitty, and hope you will not give up so good a home. No indeed, Mum, and I won't do that, but Mrs. Cloudine. Kitty's face flushed and she stammered in her speech. What do you wish to say? inquired the lady, seeing that Kitty hesitated to speak of what was on her mind. Indeed, Mum, said Kitty, evincing much perplexity. I hardly know what I ought to do, but you were good to me, Mum, when I was sick and didn't send me off to the poor house like some girls are sent, and I never can forget you while there's breath in my body. And now I've come to ask you, just as a favour to me, not to wear that new bonnet from New York tomorrow. It was some moments before the surprise occasioned by so novel and unexpected a request left Mrs. Cloudine free to make any reply. Why, Kitty, she at length exclaimed, what on earth can you mean? Indeed, Mum, and you mustn't ask me what I mean, only don't wear the bonnet to church on the morrow, because—because, ah, indeed, Mum, dear, I can't say any more, it wouldn't be right. Mrs. Cloudine told Kitty to sit down, an invitation which the girl, who was much agitated, accepted. The lady then remained silent and thoughtful for some time. Kitty, she remarked at length, in a serious manner. What you have said to me sounds very strangely. How you should know that I intended appearing in a new bonnet tomorrow, or why you should be so much interested in the matter is more than I can understand. As to acting as you desire, I see no reason for that, whatever. This reply only had the effect of causing Kitty to urge her request more strenuously, but she would give no reason for her singular conduct. After the girl had gone away, Mrs. Cloudine laid aside her work, for she was not in a state of mind to do anything but think, and sat for at least an hour musing upon the strange incident which had occurred. All at once it flashed upon her mind that there must be some plot in progress to discredit or rival her new bonnet which Kitty had learned at Mrs. Baalman's. The more she thought of this, the more fully did she become satisfied that it must be so. She was aware that Mrs. Baalman had been chagrined at her leading off in new fashions once or twice before, and the fact evident now that she knew of her reception of the bonnet and Kitty's anxiety that she should not wear it on Sunday led her to the conviction that there was some plot against her. At first she determined to appear in her new bonnet, disregardful of Kitty's warning, but subsequent reflection brought her to a different conclusion. The moment Mrs. Cloudine settled it in her mind that she would not appear in the new bonnet, she began dressing herself hurriedly to go out. It was as late as five o'clock in the afternoon when she called at the store of the milliner who had been commissioned by Mrs. Baalman to get the rival bonnet. Have you the last fashions from abroad, inquired Mrs. Cloudine? We have, replied the milliner. Will you let me see them? Certainly, ma'am. And the patterns were shown. After examining them carefully for some time Mrs. Cloudine selected a style of bonnet that pleased her fancy and said, You must get me up this bonnet so that I can wear it tomorrow. Impossible, ma'am, replied the milliner. This is Saturday evening. I know it is, but for money you can get one of your girls to work all night. I don't care what you charge, but I must have the bonnet. The milliner still hesitated and seemed to be confused and uneasy. She asked Mrs. Cloudine to sit down and wait for a little while, and then retired to think upon what she had better do. The fact was Mrs. Cloudine had pitched upon the very bonnet Mrs. Baalman had ordered and her earnestness about having it made in time to wear on the next day put it almost beyond her power to say no. If she were to tell her that Mrs. Baalman had ordered the same bonnet it would, she knew, settle the matter. But it occurred to her that if both the ladies were to appear at church in the same style of bonnet, the fashion would be sure to take, and she in consequence get a large run of business. This thought sent the blood bounding through the milliner's veins and decided her to keep her own counsel and take Mrs. Cloudine's order. She is as much right to the bonnet as Mrs. Baalman, settled all ethical questions that intruded themselves upon the milliner. I will have it ready for you, she said on returning to Mrs. Cloudine. Very well, but mind, said the lady, I wish it got up in the very best style, the hurry must not take from its beauty, as for the price, charge what you please. The milliner promised everything and Mrs. Cloudine went home to think about the important events of the approaching Sabbath. On Sunday morning both bonnets were sent home, and both the ladies fully approved the style, in fact in all things appertaining to the elegant affairs. A ten o'clock kitty who was a broad-faced, coarse-looking Irish girl came into the chamber of Mrs. Baalman dressed up in her best, which was not saying much for the taste and elegance of her appearance. Are you all ready? asked her mistress. Yes, mum. Very well, kitty, here's the bonnet. Now remember, you are to go into the pew just in front of ours. The arm-burners are all out of town and there will be no one to occupy it. Kitty received the elegant bonnet which had come on express from New York and placed it upon her head. You really look charming, said the lady. But kitty was not flattered by her words and evens so little heart in what she was doing that Mrs. Baalman said to her in a half-threatening tone as she left the room. Mind, kitty, I shall expect to see you at church. Oh yes, mum, I'll be there! replied kitty, curtsing awkwardly and retiring. Not long after kitty had retired Mrs. Baalman, after surveying for many minutes the effect of her new bonnet becoming more and more pleased with it every moment and more and more satisfied that it would take, left her room, and was descending the stairs for the purpose of joining the family who were awaiting her below. Just at that unlucky moment a servant who was bringing down a vessel of water, slipped, and a portion of the contents came dashing over the head and shoulders of the richly attired lady ruining her elegant bonnet and completely destroying the happy frame of mind in which she was about attending public worship. No wonder that she cried aloud from the sudden shock and distress so on toward an event occasioned, nor that she went back weeping to her chamber and refused to be comforted. Mr. Baalman and the children proceeded alone to church on that day. On their return home they found the lady in a calm or frame of mind, but Mr. Baalman looked grave and was unusually silent. Kitty came home and gave up her elegant headdress, and when her mistress told her that she might keep it she thanked her but declined the present. You went to church, of course, she said. Oh, yes, Mum, replied Kitty, and sat in the Arborner's pew. Yes, Mum. Alone? Yes, Mum. Was Mrs. Claudine there? Yes, Mum. Did she wear a new bonnet? Yes, Mum. It was exactly like this? Oh, no, Mum, it was exactly like the new one you had sent home this morning. What? The face of the lady flushed instantly. Wasn't it like this? No, Mum. Mrs. Baalman sunk into a chair. You can retire, Kitty, she said, and the girl withdrew, leaving her to her own feelings and reflections which were not of the most pleasing character. The appearance of Kitty at church fully explained to Mrs. Claudine the ungenerous game that had been played against her. Her first thought was to retaliate, but reflection brought other and better feelings into play. Instead of exposing what had been done, she destroyed the bonnet received from New York and made an effort to keep what had occurred a secret. But Kitty's appearance at church in such an elegant affair naturally created some talk. One surmise after another was started, and at last, from hits dropped by the milliner, and admissions almost extorted from Mrs. Claudine, the truth came out so fully that all understood it, nor was Mrs. Baalman long left in ignorance on this head. As to the fashion, Mrs. Claudine's bonnet became the rage, though, as might be supposed, Mrs. Baalman refused to adopt it. Who will be this successful rival next season, I am unable to predict, but it is believed that Mrs. Claudine intends giving Mrs. Baalman an advance of two weeks and then coming in with a different style and beating her in spite of the advantage. End of Chapter 26 The Rival Bonnets, Read by Gaine Day of BahatTrack.com Chapter 27 My Washer Woman of Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper by T. S. Arthur Chapter 27 My Washer Woman We were sitting at tea one evening, Mr. Smith, my sister and her husband, Mr. John Jones, and to myself. In the midst of a pleasant conversation Bridget looked into the dining-room. What is wanted, said I. Mary Green is downstairs. Oh! The Washer Woman! Yes, ma'am. Well, what does she want? I knew what she wanted well enough. She had come for two dollars that I owed her. I felt annoyed. Why, the reader asks, obligations of this kind should always be met promptly and cheerfully. True, and I am of those who never grudge the humble poor the reward of their labour. But it so happened that I had received a pretty liberal supply of money from my husband on this very day, all of which I had spent in shopping. Some of my purchases could not be classed exactly under the head articles of domestic economy, and I was, already, in rather a repentant mood, the warmth of admiration at the sight of sundry ornamental trifles, having subsided almost as soon as I found myself their owner. To my question Bridget very promptly answered, she's come for her money. When a woman feels annoyed she is rarely able to repress its exhibition. Men are cooler and have a quicker self-control. They make better hypocrites. She's very prompt, I remarked, a little fretfully, as I took out my portemonnais. Now I did not possess twenty cents, and I knew it, still, I fingered among its compartments as if in search of the little gold dollars that were not there. Haven't you the change, inquired Mr. Smith, at the same time drawing forth his purse, through the meshes of which the gold and silver gold glittered in the glass of light? No dear, I replied, feeling instant relief. Help yourself, said he, as he tossed the purse to my side at the table. I was not long in accepting the invitation, you may be sure. Don't think, said I, after Bridget had retired, that I am one of those who grudge the toiling poor the meager wages they earn. I presume I looked, as I spoke a little annoyed. The fact is, to tell the honest truth, I have not a dollar in my portemonnais. This, with the not very pleasant consciousness of having spent several dollars today rather foolishly, fretted me when the just demand of the washerwoman came. I will exonerate my wife from any suspicion of grinding the faces of the poor. Mr. Smith spoke promptly and with some earnestness of manner. After slight pause he continued. Some people have a singular reluctance to part with money, if waited on for a bill they say almost involuntarily, called tomorrow even though their pockets are far from being empty. I once fell into this bad habit myself but a little incident which I will relate cured me. Not many years after I had attained my majority a poor widow named Blake did my washing and ironing. She was the mother of two or three little children whose sole dependence for food and raiment was on the labour of her hands. Punctually every Thursday morning Mrs. Blake appeared with my clothes, white as the driven snow, but not always as punctually did I pay the pittance she had earned my hard labour. Mrs. Blake is downstairs, said a servant tapping at my room door one morning while I was in the act of dressing myself. Oh, very well, I replied, tell her to leave my clothes I will get them when I come down. The thought of paying the seventy-five cents her due crossed my mind, but I said to myself it's but a small matter and we'll do as well when she comes again. There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My funds were low and I might need what change I had during the day, and so it proved. As I went to the office in which I was engaged some small article of ornament caught my eye in a shop window. Beautiful said I as I stood looking at it. Admiration quickly changed into the desire for possession and so I stepped in to ask the price. It was just two dollars. Cheap enough, thought I, and this very cheapness was a further temptation, so I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, and found the amount to be two dollars and a quarter. I guess I'll take it, said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper's counter. Better have paid Mrs. Blake. This thought crossed my mind an hour afterwards by which time the little ornament had lost its power of pleasing. So much would at least have been saved. I was leaving the table after tea on the evening that followed when the waiter said to me, Mrs. Blake is at the door and wishes to see you. I felt worried at hearing this, for there was no change in my pockets and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for her money. She's in a great hurry, I muttered to myself as I descended to the door. You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next, Greek, Mrs. Blake. I haven't any change this evening. The expression of the poor woman's face as she turned slowly away without speaking rather softened my feelings. I'm sorry, said I, but it can't be helped now. I wish you had said this morning that you wanted money. I could have paid you then. She paused and turned partly towards me as I said this. Then she moved off with something so sad in her manner that I was touched sensibly. I ought to have paid her this morning when I had a change about me, and I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money if she wanted it so badly? I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards I met the lady with whom I was boarding. Do you know anything about this, Mrs. Blake, who washes for me? I inquired. Not much, except that she is very poor and has three children to feed in clothes, and what is worst of all, she is in bad health. I think she told me this morning that one of her little ones was very sick. I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon after left the room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only a sixpence in my pocket, and moreover, I did not know where to find Mrs. Blake. Having purpose to make a call upon some young ladies that evening, I now went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotless linen brought home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of it rebuked me, and I had to conquer with some force an instinctive reluctance before I could compel myself to put on a clean shirt and snow-white vest too recently from the hand of my unpaid washerwoman. One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more than a mere pleasant acquaintance, and here Mr. Smith glanced with a tender smile towards me. My heart had, in fact, been warming towards her for some time, and I was particularly anxious to find favour in her eyes. On this evening she was lovelier and more attractive than ever. Judge then of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of her mother at the very moment when my heart was all aglow with love who said as she came in, Oh, dear, this is a strange world. What new feature have you discovered now, mother? asked one of her daughters, smiling. No new one, child, but an old one that looks more repulsive than ever, was answered. Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now in great trouble. What about mother? All the young ladies at once manifested unusual interest. Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance upon which the eyes of the mother turned themselves as I felt with a severe scrutiny. The old story in cases like hers was answered. Can't get her money when earned although for daily bread she is dependent on her daily labour. With no food in the house or money to buy medicine for her sick child, she was compelled to seek me tonight and to humble her spirit, which is an independent one so low as to ask bread for her little ones, and the loan of a pittance with which to get what the doctor was ordered for her feeble sufferer at home. Oh, what a shame! fell from the lips of her in whom my heart felt more than a passing interest, and she looked at me earnestly as she spoke. She fully expected, said her mother, to get a trifle that was due her from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin, and she went to see him this evening, but he put her off with some excuse. How strange that anyone should be so thoughtless as to withhold from the poor their hard-earned pittance. It is but a small sum, at best, that the toiling seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearying labour. That, at least, should be promptly paid, to withhold it an hours to do in many cases a great wrong. For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. I felt that the thoughts of all returned upon me is the one who had withheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing. What my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe, and difficult for any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a position, to imagine. My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again and in another channel, for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest upon me. You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten o'clock on the next day, and that I never again fell into the error of neglecting, for a single week, my poor washerwoman. Such a confession from you, Mr. Smith, of all men! said I, feeling a little uncomfortable that he should have told this story of himself. We are none of us perfect, he answered. He is best who, conscious of natural defects and evils, strives against and overcomes them. I think my dear, said I to my husband one day, that we shall have to move from here. Why so? asked Mr. Smith in surprise. It is a very comfortable house. I am certain we will not get another as desirable at the same rent. I don't know that we will, but just as I said this, my cook opened the door of the room where we were sitting and said, Mrs. Jordan-man wants to borrow half a pound of butter. She says they are entirely out, and their butterman won't come before tomorrow. Very well, Bridget, let her have it. The cook retired. Why do you wish to move, Jane? asked my husband as the girl closed the door. Cook's visit was quite apropos, I replied. It is on account of the half pound of butter, cup of sugar, and a pen of flour, nuisance. I don't exactly comprehend you, Jane, said my husband. It is to get rid of a borrowing neighbor. The fact is, Mr. Jordan is almost too much for me. I like to be accommodating. It gives me pleasure to oblige my neighbors. I am ready to give any reasonable obedience to the scripture injunction from him that would borrow of thee turn thou not away. But Mrs. Jordan goes beyond all reason. Still, if she is punctual in returning what she gets, I don't know that you ought to let it annoy you a great deal. Fair lies the gist of the matter, my dear, I replied. If there were no ifs, such as you suggest, in the case, I would not think a great deal about it. But the fact is, there is no tallying the cups of sugar, pans of flour, pounds of butter, and little matters of salt, pepper, vinegar, mustard, ginger, spices, eggs, lard, meal, and the dear knows what all, that go out monthly but never come back again. I veryly believe we suffer through Mrs. Jordan's habit of borrowing not less than fifty or sixty dollars a year. Little things like these count up. So bad is that, is it? said my husband. Indeed it is, and when she returns anything it is almost always of an inferior quality and frequently thrown away on that account. While we were talking, the tea bell rang and we retired to the dining-room. What's the matter with this tea? asked Mr. Smith, pushing the cup I had handed him aside after having sipped of its contents. I never tasted such stuff, it's like herb tea. It must be something in the water, replied I. The tea is the same we have been using all along. I poured some into a cup and tasted it. Ha! I said with disgust and rang the bell. The cook entered in a few moments. Bridget, what's the matter with your tea? It isn't fit to drink. Is it the same we have been using? No, ma'am, replied Bridget. It is some Mrs. Jordan sent home. I reminded Nancy when she was here for butter that they owed us some tea borrowed day before yesterday, and she came right back with it, saying that Mrs. Jordan was sorry it had slipped her mind. I thought I would draw it by itself and not mix it with the tea in our canister. You can throw this out and draw fresh tea, Bridget, we can't drink it, said I, handing her the teapot. You see how it works! I remarked as Bridget left the room and my husband leaned back in his chair to wait for a fresh cup of tea. One half of the time when anything is returned we can't use it. The butter, Mrs. Jordan got a little while ago, if returned tomorrow will not be fit to go on our table. We can only use it for cooking. It isn't right. Sententiously remarked my husband. The fact is, he resumed after a slight pause, I wouldn't lend such a woman anything. It is a downriding position. It is a very easy thing to say that, Mr. Smith, but I am not prepared to do it. I don't believe Mrs. Jordan means to do wrong or is really conscious that she is trespassing upon us. Some people don't reflect. Otherwise, she is a pleasant neighbor, and I like her very much. It is want of proper thought, Mr. Smith, and nothing else. If a man kept treading on my gouty toe for want of thought, said my husband, I should certainly tell him of it whether he got offended eye or not. If his friendship could only be retained on these terms I would prefer dispensing with a favour. The case isn't exactly parallel, Mr. Smith, was my reply. The gouty toe and crushing heel are very palpable and straightforward matters, and a man would be an egregious blockhead to be offended when reminded of the pain he was inflicting. But it would be impossible to make Mrs. Jordan at all conscious of the extent of her shortcomings, very many of which in fact are indirect so far as she is concerned, and arise from her general sanction of the borrowing system. I do not suppose for a moment that she knows about everything that is borrowed. If she doesn't, pray who does, inquired my husband. Her servants, I have to be as watchful as you can imagine to see that Bridget, excellent a girl as she is, doesn't suffer things to get out. And then at the last moment, when it is too late to send to the store, run into a neighbour's and borrow to hide her neglect. If I gave her a card of block, for borrowing I might be as annoying to my neighbour's as Mrs. Jordan. That's a rather serious matter, said my husband. In fact there is no knowing how much people may suffer in their neighbour's good opinion through the misconduct of their servants in this very thing. Truly sad, and now let me relate a fact about Mrs. Jordan that illustrates your remark. The fresh tea had come in, and we were going on with our evening meal. A few weeks ago we had some friends here spending the evening. When about serving refreshments I discovered that my two dozen tumblers had been reduced to seven or eight. On inquiry I learned that Mrs. Jordan had ten, the rest had been broken. I sent to her with my compliments and asked her to return them as I had some company and wished to use them in serving refreshments. Bridget was gone some time, and when she returned said that Mrs. Jordan at first denied having any of my tumblers. Her cook was called to acknowledge to five, and after sundry efforts on the part of Bridget to refresh her memory, finally gave in to the whole ten. Early on the next morning Mrs. Jordan came in to see me and seemed a good deal mortified about the tumblers. It was the first I had heard about it, she said. Nancy, it now appears, borrowed of you to hide her own breakage, and I should have been none the wiser if you had not sent in. I have not a single tumbler left. It is too bad. I don't care so much for the loss of the tumblers as I do for the mortifying position it placed me in toward a neighbor. Upon my word exclaimed my husband. That is a beautiful illustration, sure enough, of my remarks about what people may suffer in the good opinion of others. Through the conduct of their servants in this very thing. No doubt Mrs. Jordan, as you suggest, is guiltless of a good deal of blame now laid at her door. It was a fair opportunity for you to give her some hints on the subject. You might have opened her eyes a little or at least diminished the annoyance you had been and still are enduring. Yes, the opportunity was a good one, and I ought to have improved it. But I did not, and the whole system, sanctioned or not sanctioned by Mrs. Jordan, is in force against me. And we'll continue unless some means be adopted by which to abate the nuisance. Seriously, Mr. Smith said I am clear for removing from the neighborhood. But Mr. Smith said, nonsense, Jane. A form of expression he uses when he wishes to say that my proposition or suggestion is perfectly ridiculous and not to be thought of for a moment. What is to be done, I asked. Bear the evil? Correct it if you can. And if not, bear it the best I can? Yes, that is my advice. This was the bad the extent of aid I ever received from my husband in any of my domestic difficulties. He is a first-rate abstractionist and can see to a hair how others ought to act in every imaginable, and I was going to say unimaginable case. But it's just as backward about telling people what he thinks of them, and making everybody with whom he has anything to do toe the mark as I am. As the idea of moving to get rid of my borrowing neighbor was considered perfect nonsense by Mr. Smith, I began to think seriously how I should check the evil, now grown almost insufferable. On the next morning the coffee mill was borrowed to begin with. Hasn't Mrs. Jordan got a coffee mill of her own, I asked of Bridget. Yes, ma'am, she replied, but it is such a poor one that Nancy won't use it. She says it takes her forever and a day to grind enough coffee for breakfast. Does she get hours every morning? Yes, ma'am. Nancy opened the kitchen door at this moment our back gates were side by side and said, Mrs. Jordan says will you oblige her so much as to let her have an egg to clear the coffee? I forgot to tell her yesterday that hours were all gone. Certainly, I said, Bridget, give Nancy an egg. Mrs. Jordan is very sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Smith, said Nancy reappearing in a little while and finding me still in the kitchen, but she says if you will enter a bowl of sugar it will be a great accommodation. I forgot to tell her yesterday that the sugar was all gone. You appear to be rather forgetful of such matters Nancy, I could not help saying. I know I am a little forgetful, the girl said good humoredly, but I have so much to do that I hardly have time to think. Where is the large earthen dish that you use sometimes in making bread? I asked after Mrs. Jordan's coke had withdrawn, missing it from its usual place on the shelf. Nancy borrowed it last week. Why didn't she bring it home? I've told her about it three or four times. Nancy opened the door again. Please, ma'am, to let Mrs. Jordan have another half pound of butter we have enough to do for breakfast and the buttermen don't come until the middle of the day. Of course I couldn't refuse, though I believe I granted the request with no very smiling grace. I heard no more of Nancy until toward dinner time. I had given my cook orders not to lend her anything more without first coming to me. Mrs. Jordan has sent in to know if you won't lend her two or three scuttles full of coal, said Bridget. Mr. Jordan was to have sent home the fires are going down. Certainly, I replied. Let her have it, but I want you to see that it is returned. As to that, ma'am, I'll do my best, but I can't get Nancy to return one half what she borrows. She forgets from one day to another. She mustn't forget, I returned warmly. You must go to Mrs. Jordan yourself. It isn't right. I shall have to go, I guess, before I'm able to get back a dozen kitchen things of ours they have. I never saw such borrowing people and then never to think of returning what they get. They have got one of our pokers, the big saucepan and the cake board, our muffin rings they've had these three months. Every Monday they get two of our tubs and the wash boiler. Yesterday they sent in and got our large meat dish belonging to the diner set and haven't sent it home yet. Indeed, I can't tell you all they've got. Let Nancy have the coal, said I, but we must stop this in some way if it be possible. For three or four days the same thing was kept up until I lost all patience and resolved, offence or no offence, to end a system that was both annoying and unjust. Mrs. Jordan called in to see me one day and sat conversing in a very pleasant strain for an hour. She was an agreeable companion and I was pleased with the visit. In fact, I liked Mrs. Jordan. About an hour after she was gone Nancy came into the kitchen where I happened to be. What's wanted now? said I. My voice expressed quite as much as my words. I saw the collar flush in Nancy's face. Mrs. Jordan says will you please to lend her a pan of flour she will return it to-morrow. Tell Mrs. Jordan, I reply, that we are going to make up bread this afternoon and have more than enough flour left, or I would let her have what she wants. And by the way, Nancy, tell Mrs. Jordan that I will be obliged to her if she will send in my large earthen dish. We want to use it. Nancy didn't seem pleased and I thought she muttered something to herself as she went away. Not five minutes elapsed before word came to my room that Mrs. Jordan was in the parlor and wished to speak to me. Now for trouble, thought I. Sure enough, when I entered the parlor the knit brow flushed face and angry eyes of my neighbour told me that there was to be a scene. Mrs. Smith, she began without ceremony or apology for her abruptness of manner. I should like to know what you mean by the manner in which you refused to let me have a little flour just now. How did I refuse? I was cool enough to inquire. You refused in a manner which plainly enough showed that you thought me a troublesome borrower. What's wanted now? I think rather strange language to use to a domestic of mine. Really, thought I, this caps the climax. To speak the plain truth, Mrs. Jordan, said I, and not wishing to give any offense, you do use the privilege of a neighbour in this respect rather freely, more freely I must own, than I feel justified in doing. Mrs. Smith, this is too much, exclaimed Mrs. Jordan. Why you borrowed me twice where I borrowed you once, I am particularly careful in matters of this kind. I looked at the woman with amazement, borrower of you, I asked. Certainly, she replied with perfect coolness. Scarcely a day passes that you do not stand in for something or other, but dear knows I have always felt pleasure in obliging you. I was mute for a time. Really, Mrs. Jordan, said I, at length as composedly as I could speak, you seem to be laboring under some strange mistake. The charge of frequent borrowing, I imagine, lies all on the other side. I can name a dozen of my things in your house now, and can mention as many articles borrowed within the last three days. Pray do so, was her cool reply. You have my large wash boiler, I replied, and two of my washing tubs. You borrow them every Monday, and I have almost always to send for them. I have your wash boiler and tubs. You are in error, Mrs. Smith. I have a large boiler of my own, and plenty of tubs. I don't know what you have, Mrs. Jordan, but I do know that you get mine every week. Excuse me for mentioning these things, I do so at your desire. Then there is my coffee mill borrowed every morning. Coffee mill? Why would I borrow your coffee mill? We have one of our own. Yesterday you borrowed butter and eggs and sugar, I continued. I? my neighbor seemed perfectly amazed. Yes, and the day before a loaf of bread and egg to clear your coffee, salt, pepper, and a nutmeg. Never. And today Nancy got some lard, a cup of coffee, and some Indian meal for a pudding. She did, asked Mrs. Jordan in a quick voice, a light seeming to have flashed upon her mind. Yes, I replied, for I was in the kitchen when she got the lard and meal, and Bridget mentioned the coffee as soon as I came down this morning. Strange! Mrs. Jordan looked thoughtful. It isn't a week since we got coffee, and I'm sure our Indian meal cannot be out. Almost every week Nancy borrows a pound or half, pound of butter on the day before your butterman comes, and more than that, doesn't return it, or indeed anything she gets more than a third of the time. Precisely the complaint I have to make against you, said Mrs. Jordan, looking me steadily in the face. Then, said I, there is something wrong somewhere, for to my knowledge nothing has been borrowed from you or anybody else for months. I forbid anything of the kind. Be that as it may, Mrs. Smith. Nancy frequently comes to me and says you have sent in for this, that, and the other thing, coffee, tea, sugar, butter, and in fact almost everything used in a family. Then Nancy gets them for her own use, said I. But I have often seen Bridget in myself for things. My Bridget? I said in surprise. I instantly rang the bell. Tell Bridget I want her, said I to the waiter who came to the door. The cooks soon appeared. Bridget, are you in the habit of borrowing from Mrs. Jordan without my knowledge? No, ma'am, replied the girl firmly, and without any mark of disturbance on her face. Didn't you get a bar of soap from our house yesterday? asked Mrs. Jordan. Yes, ma'am, returned Bridget, but it was soap you owed us. O'd you? Yes, ma'am, Nancy got a bar of soap from me last washing-day, and I went in for it yesterday. But Nancy told me you wanted to borrow it, said Mrs. Jordan. Nancy knew better, said Bridget, with a face slightly flushed, but anyone could see that it was a flush of indignation. Will you step into my house until Nancy I want to see her? Certainly, ma'am. And Bridget retired. These servants have been playing a high game, I fear, remarked Mrs. Jordan after Bridget had left the room. Pardon me if, in my surprise, I have spoken in a manner that has seemed offensive. Most certainly there is a game playing that I know nothing about if anything has been borrowed of you in my name for these three months, said I. I have heard of your borrowing something or other almost every day during the time you mentioned, replied Mrs. Jordan. As for me, I have sent in to you a few times, but not oftener, I am sure, than once in a week. Bridget returned after having been gone several minutes and said Nancy would be indirectly. We waited for some time and then sent for her again, where it was brought back that she was nowhere to be found in the house. Come in with me, Mrs. Smith, said my neighbor, rising. I did so according to her request. Sure enough, Nancy was gone. We went up into her room and found that she had bundled up her clothes and taken them off, but left behind her unmistakable evidence of what she had been doing. An old chest, which Mrs. Jordan had let her use for her clothes, were many packages of tea, burnt coffee, sugar, soap, eggs—a tin kettle containing a pound of butter and various other articles of table use. Poor Mrs. Jordan seemed bewildered. Let me look at that pound lump of butter, said I. Mrs. Jordan took up the kettle containing it. It isn't my butter, she remarked. But it's mine and the very pound she got of me yesterday for you. Gracious me, ejaculated my neighbor, was anything like this ever heard. She evidently borrowed on your credit and mine both ways, I remarked with a smile for all my unkind feelings toward Mrs. Jordan, were gone, and for her own benefit. But isn't it dreadful to think of, Mrs. Smith, see what harm the creature has done, over and over again have I complained of your borrowing so much and returning so little, and you have doubtless made the same complaint of me? I certainly have, I felt that I was not justly dealt by. It makes me sick to think of it, and Mrs. Jordan sank into a chair. Still, I don't understand about the wash boiler and tubs that you mentioned, she said after pause. You remember my ten tumblers, I remarked. Perfectly, but can she have broken up my tubs and boiler or carried them off? On searching in the cellar we found the tubs in ruins, and the wash boiler with a large hole in the bottom. I shall never forget the chagrion anger and mortification of poor Mrs. Jordan when. At her request, Bridget pointed out at least twenty of my domestic utensils that Nancy had borrowed to replace such as, she had broken or carried away. It was a rule with Mrs. Jordan to make her servants pay for everything they broke. To think of it, she repeated over and over again, just to think of it, who could have dreamed of such doings? Mrs. Jordan was, in fact, a skilpless of the sin of troublesome borrowing from my neighbors myself, and yet I had seriously urged the propriety of moving out of the neighborhood to get away from her. We both looked more closely to the doings of our servants after this pretty severe lesson, and I must freely confess that in my own case the result was worth all the trouble, as trusty a girl as my cook was, I found that she would occasionally run into my neighbors to borrow something or other in order to hide her own neglect, and I only succeeded in stopping the evil by threatening to send her away if I ever detected her in doing it again.