oss went out shopping, and was away till
noon. On returning, she found the house full of the odour of something
burnt.

"What's this smell, Martha?" she asked at the kitchen door, "what is
burning?"

"Oh, it's only a dishcloth as was drying and caught fire, mum,"
answered the servant.

"Only! What do you mean?" cried the mistress, angrily. "Do you wish to
burn the house down?"

Martha stood with her arms akimbo, on her thin, dough-pale face the
most insolent of grins, her teeth gleaming, and her eyes wide.

"What do you mean?" cried Mrs. Cross. "Show me the burnt cloth at once."

"There you are, mum!"

And Martha, with a kick, pointed to something on the floor. Amazed and
wrathful, Mrs. Cross saw a long roller-towel, half a yard of it burnt
to tinder; nor could any satisfactory explanation of the accident be
drawn from Martha, who laughed, sobbed, and sniggered by turns as if
she were demented.

"Of course you will pay for it," exclaimed Mrs. Cross for the twentieth
time. "Go on with your work at once, and don't let me have any more of
this extraordinary behaviour. I can't think what has come to you."

But Martha seemed incapable of resuming her ordinary calm. Whilst
serving the one o'clock dinner--which was very badly cooked--she wept
and sighed, and when her mistress had risen from the table, she stood
for a long time staring vacantly before she could bestir herself to
clear away. About three o'clock, having several times vainly rung the
sitting-room bell, Mrs. Cross went to the kitchen. The door was shut,
and, on trying to open it, she found it locked. She called "Martha,"
again and again, and had no reply, until, all of a sudden, a shrill
voice cried from within--"Go away! Go away!" Beside herself with wrath
and amazement, the mistress demanded admission answer, there came a
violent thumping on the door at the other side, and again the voice
screamed--"Go away! Go away!"

"What's the matter with you, Martha?" asked Mrs. Cross, beginning to
feel alarmed.

"Go away!" replied the voice fiercely.

"Either you open the door this moment, or I call a policeman."

This threat had an immediate effect, though not quite of the kind that
Mrs. Cross hoped. The key turned with a snap, the door was flung open,
and there stood Martha, in a Corybantic attitude, brandishing a
dinner-plate in one hand, a poker in the other; her hair was
dishevelled, her face red, and fury blazed in her eyes.

"You _won't_ go away?"