eeting her as she entered, asked her to be as quick as possible in
getting tea; whereupon the domestic threw up her head and regarded the
speaker from under her eyelids with an extraordinary smile; then with a
"Yes, miss, this minute, miss" scampered upstairs to take her things
off. All that evening her behaviour was strange. As she waited at the
supper table she seemed to be subduing laughter, and in clearing away
she for the first time broke a plate; whereupon she burst into tears,
and begged forgiveness so long and so wearisomely that she had at last
to be ordered out of the room.

On the morrow all was well again; but Bertha could not help watching
that singular countenance, and the more she observed, the less she
liked it.

The more "willing" a servant the more toil did Mrs. Cross exact from
her. When occasions of rebuke or of dispute were lacking, the day would
have been long and wearisome for her had she not ceaselessly plied the
domestic drudge with tasks, and narrowly watched their execution. The
spectacle of this slave-driving was a constant trial to Bertha's
nerves; now and then she ventured a mild protest, but only with the
result of exciting her mother's indignation. In her mood of growing
moral discontent, Bertha began to ask herself whether acquiescence in
this sordid tyranny was not a culpable weakness, and one day early in
the year--a wretched day of east-wind--when she saw Martha perched on
an outer window-sill cleaning panes, she found the courage to utter
resolute disapproval.

"I don't understand you, Bertha," replied Mrs. Cross, the muscles of
her face quivering as they did when she felt her dignity outraged.
"What do we engage a servant for? Are the windows to get so dirty we
can't see through them?"

"They were cleaned not many days ago," said her daughter, "and I think
we could manage to see till the weather's less terrible."

"My dear, if we _managed_ so as to give the servant no trouble at all,
the house would soon be in a pretty state. Be so good as not to
interfere. It's really an extraordinary thing that as soon as I find a
girl who almost suits me, you begin to try to spoil her. One would
think you took a pleasure in making my life miserable--"

Overwhelmed with floods of reproach, Bertha had either to combat or to
retreat. Again her nerves failed her, and she left the room.

At dinner that day there was a roast leg of mutton, and, as her habit
was, Mrs. Cross carved the portion wh