know how many were down stairs, and
I counted seventeen.'

'Take care Dinah, you're spilling that milk!'

'I can't help it, this pitcher leaks.'

'Where's the children's bowl?'

'I don't know, mum--I think it's broke.'

'Broken! Why, I bought a new one yesterday.'

''Tain't my fault.'

Hopelessly resigned, my sister Mary politely requested her to put down
the waiter, and explained the nature of a witness's duty. We
acknowledged our signatures and Dinah wrote out her name in a neat hand,
then picked up the waiter and walked out of the room with the air of an
injured innocent.

I jumped up, kissed my sister, informed her that for the next three
months she was to be a _passive_ observer, asked her to retire, locked
up the contract, and gave the bell one pull that brought half the
household to the door.

PART II.

_A MAN'S PLAN._

As the servants rushed into the library they found me quietly reading a
book and puffing at the pages. I slightly raised my eyes to this back
ground of faces on which might be seen, surprise, anger, impertinence,
curiosity and excitement. I slowly placed my book half open across my
knee, with my hand resting on the cover, and with the other taking my
segar out of my mouth, knocked the ashes off into a little glass tub;
elevated my eyebrows and asked in perfect astonishment, yet measured
tones:

'What-is-the-matter?'

'That's what we want to know sir;' exclaimed the cook, a little let down
by my coolness.

'Nothing that I know of,' I replied, except that I took the liberty of
ringing my bell,' increasing in volume as I spoke.

'We thought some one was sick, sir,' said Sabina.

'I don't want to know what _you_ thought,' I rolled out in emphatic
base, 'I want the WAITER! which is _it_?'--That neuter cut them to the
heart.

But they rallied--a revolt was imminent. I had lived in the family one
year, with my sister as housekeeper, and had never made a remark to the
servants, it being my habit in life to submit to what was not my
business, or clear out. But now--_now_, with Imprimatur on my forehead,
a clutch in my mental fingers, and a hungry longing to rule free: ha!
ha!--Let us see. This was a trying moment--The vessel had been
signalled, and my colors were to be shown--so here they go--the flag of
the little brig 'one-man-power,' with the motto 'Anvil or hammar answer
hammar,' is unfurled.

Hemmed in by swelling indignation, whisperings and sullen looks, I
jumped