as black as the ace of spades, and another
black fellow in the bargain? Send him back again! yes, that's
best? but the child--woke every morning at five o'clock with its
squalling--obliged to kiss it three times a day--pleasant!--and then
that nigger of a nurse--thick lips--kissing child all day, and then
holding it out to me--ignorant as a cow--if the child has the
stomach-ache she'll cram a pepper-pod down its throat--West India
fashion--children never without the stomach-ache--my poor, poor
cousin!--what has become of her and the other child, too?--wish they may
pick her up, poor dear! and then she will come and take care of her own
children--don't know what to do--great mind to send for sister
Moggy--but she's so _fussy_--won't be in a hurry. Think again.'

Here Mr. Witherington was interrupted by two taps at the door.

'Come in,' said he; and the cook, with her face as red as if she had
been dressing a dinner for eighteen, made her appearance without the
usual clean apron.

'If you please, sir,' said she, curtseying, 'I will thank you to suit
yourself with another cook.'

'Oh, very well,' replied Mr. Witherington, angry at the interruption.

'And if you please, sir, I should like to go this very day--indeed, sir,
I shall not stay.'

'Go to the devil! if you please,' replied Mr. Witherington angrily; 'but
first go out and shut the door after you.'

The cook retired, and Mr. Witherington was again alone.

'Confound the old woman--what a huff she is in! won't cook for black
people, I suppose--yes, that's it.'

Here Mr. Witherington was again interrupted by a second double tap at
the door.

'Oh! thought better of it, I suppose. Come in.'

It was not the cook, but Mary, the housemaid, that entered.

'If you please, sir,' said she, whimpering, 'I should wish to leave my
situation.'

'A conspiracy, by heavens! Well, you may go.'

'To-night, sir, if you please,' answered the woman.

'This moment, for all I care!' exclaimed Mr. Witherington in his wrath.

The housemaid retired; and Mr. Witherington took some time to compose
himself.

'Servants all going to the devil in this country,' said he at last;
'proud fools--won't clean rooms after black people, I suppose--yes,
that's it, confound them all, black and white! here's my whole
establishment upset by the arrival of a baby. Well, it is very
uncomfortable--what shall I do?--send for sister Moggy?--no, I'll send
for Jonathan.'

Mr. Witherington rang th