did 'em, could do 'em, or anybody could do 'em on this mighty yeath
(earth), ma'am!"

"Come, come, don't get me flustered, woman," cries the poor, faint Mrs.
Pompaliner. "Don't come here to worry me; answer me and go."

"So I can go, ma'am!" said Mrs. Brown, with a vigorous toss of her
bullet head.

"Stop, will you understand me, Mrs.--a--"

"Brown, ma'am, Brown's my name. I ain't afeard to let anybody know it!"
responded the spunky laundress.

The arrival of Olivia, who ushered in Jessamine, turned the current of
affairs.

"Jessamine, your gloves on, dear?"

"Yes'm."

"Then go to my _boudoir_, open the rose-wood clothes case, bring down
the skirts, a dozen or two of the _mouchoirs_, the laces and hose."

The girl departed, and soon returned with a ponderous paper box, laden
with the articles required.

"Now," said Mrs. Pompaliner, "now, Brown, look at those articles; don't
you see that they have been touched?"

"Tetched! lord-a-massy, ma'am, how'd you get 'em ironed, folded and
brought home, ma'am, without tetching 'em?"

"Olivia, Vanilla, where are you? Jessamine, dear, bring me a fresh
handkerchief, ignite a _pastile_, there's such an odor in the room. Do
you _smell_, Mrs. a--Brown, that horrid lavender or rose, or, or,--do
you smell it, Brown?"

"Lord-a-massy, ma'am," said the old woman of suds, "I ollers smell a
dreadful smell here; them parfumeries o' yourn, I often tell my Augusty,
I wonder them stinkin'--"

"O! O! dear!" cries Mrs. Pompaliner, going off "into a spell;"
recovering a little, Mrs. Pompaliner proceeds to state that for some
time past, she had been troubled with _a presentiment_, that her fine
clothes had been tampered with after leaving the smoothing iron, and how
fatal to her would be the fact of any mortal daring to use, in the
remotest manner, any fresh garment or personal apparel of hers!
Suspicion had been aroused, the articles before the parties were now
diligently examined, when, lo! a spot, not unlike a slight smear of
vermilion, was discovered upon a splendid handkerchief--it gave Mrs. P.
an electric shock; but, O horror! the next thing turned up was a
_spangle_, big as a half dime, upon one of Mrs. P.'s most superb skirts!
This awful revelation, connected with the smell of vile lavender and
worse patchouly, upon another piece of woman gear, threw Mrs. Pompaliner
into spasms, between the motions of which she gasped:

"You have a daughter, Mrs. Brown?"

"Yes, I have."