the torn sleeve, while Netty stood by. It was the work of
but five minutes.

"Be sure," said I, as I handed the garment to Netty, "to see that one
of Alice's frocks is ironed first thing to-morrow morning."

The girl heard, of course, but she made no answer. That was rather more
of a condescension than she was willing to make just then.

Instead of thinking how easily the difficulty of the clean frock for
Alice had been gotten over, I began fretting myself because I had not
been able to procure a seamstress, although the children were "all in
rags and tatters."

"What is to be done?" I said, half crying, as I began to rock myself
backward and forward in the great rocking-chair. "I am out of all
heart." For an hour I continued to rock and fret myself, and then came
to the desperate resolution to go to work and try what I could do with
my own hands. But where was I to begin? What was I to take hold of
first? All the children were in rags.

"Not one of them has a decent garment to his back," said I.

So, after worrying for a whole hour about what I should do, and where I
should begin, I abandoned the idea of attempting any thing myself, in
despair, and concluded the perplexing debate by taking another hearty
crying-spell. The poor washerwoman was forgotten during most of this
afternoon. My own troubles were too near the axis of vision, and shut
out all other objects.

The dusky twilight had begun to fall, and I was still sitting idly in
my chamber, and as unhappy as I could be. I felt completely
discouraged. How _was_ I to get along? I had been trying for weeks, in
vain, to get a good seamstress; and yet had no prospect of obtaining
one. I was going to lose my cook, and, in all probability, my
chambermaid. What would I do? No light broke in through the cloudy veil
that overhung my mind. The door opened, and Agnes, who had come up to
my room, said--

"Mrs. Partridge is done."

I took out my purse, and had selected therefrom the change necessary to
pay the washerwoman, when a thought of her caused me to say--

"Tell Mrs. Partridge to come up and see me."

My thoughts and feelings were changing. By the time the washerwoman
came in, my interest in her was alive again.

"Sit down," said I, to the tired-looking creature who sank into a
chair, evidently much wearied.

"It's hard work, Mrs. Partridge," said I.

"Yes, ma'am, it is rather hard. But I am thankful for health and
strength to enable me to go through w