Miss Bertha will be out all day, and I
don't like being left alone You shall go to-morrow instead."
Half an hour later, Mrs. Cross 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.
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