ce, with an
earnest and perplexed expression, and said, simply, "What do you keep
them for, mamma?"

"I don't know, I'm sure, except for a plague; they are the plague of my
life. I believe that more of my ill health is caused by them than by any
one thing; and ours, I know, are the very worst that ever anybody was
plagued with."

"O, come, Marie, you've got the blues, this morning," said St. Clare.
"You know 't isn't so. There's Mammy, the best creature living,--what
could you do without her?"

"Mammy is the best I ever knew," said Marie; "and yet Mammy, now, is
selfish--dreadfully selfish; it's the fault of the whole race."

"Selfishness _is_ a dreadful fault," said St. Clare, gravely.

"Well, now, there's Mammy," said Marie, "I think it's selfish of her to
sleep so sound nights; she knows I need little attentions almost every
hour, when my worst turns are on, and yet she's so hard to wake. I
absolutely am worse, this very morning, for the efforts I had to make to
wake her last night."

"Hasn't she sat up with you a good many nights, lately, mamma?" said
Eva.

"How should you know that?" said Marie, sharply; "she's been
complaining, I suppose."

"She didn't complain; she only told me what bad nights you'd had,--so
many in succession."

"Why don't you let Jane or Rosa take her place, a night or two," said
St. Clare, "and let her rest?"

"How can you propose it?" said Marie. "St. Clare, you really are
inconsiderate. So nervous as I am, the least breath disturbs me; and a
strange hand about me would drive me absolutely frantic. If Mammy felt
the interest in me she ought to, she'd wake easier,--of course, she
would. I've heard of people who had such devoted servants, but it never
was _my_ luck;" and Marie sighed.

Miss Ophelia had listened to this conversation with an air of shrewd,
observant gravity; and she still kept her lips tightly compressed, as
if determined fully to ascertain her longitude and position, before she
committed herself.

"Now, Mammy has a _sort_ of goodness," said Marie; "she's smooth and
respectful, but she's selfish at heart. Now, she never will be done
fidgeting and worrying about that husband of hers. You see, when I was
married and came to live here, of course, I had to bring her with me,
and her husband my father couldn't spare. He was a blacksmith, and, of
course, very necessary; and I thought and said, at the time, that
Mammy and he had better give each other up, as it wasn't l