Caring little for books, and not much for society, how
was she to pass her time if denied the resource of household
affairs? Bertha observed the signs of coming trouble. One morning,
her mother came downstairs earlier than usual, and after fidgeting
about the room, where her daughter was busy at her drawing-board,
suddenly exclaimed:
"I wish you would tell that girl to make my bed properly. I haven't
closed my eyes for three nights, and I ache from head to foot. The
way she neglects my room is really shameful--"
There followed intimate details, to which Bertha listened gravely.
"That shall be seen to at once, mother," she replied, and left the
room.
The complaint, as she suspected, had very little foundation. It was
only the beginning; day after day did Mrs. Cross grumble about this,
that and the other thing, until Bertha saw that the anticipated
moment was at hand. The great struggle arose out of that old point
of debate, the servant's meals. Mrs. Cross, stealing into the
kitchen, had caught a glimpse of Sarah's dinner, and so amazed was
she, so stirred with indignation to the depth of her soul, that she
cast off all show of respect for the new order, and overwhelmed
Bertha with rebukes. Her daughter listened quietly until the torrent
had spent its force, then said with a smile:
"Is this how you keep your promise, mother?"
"Promise? Did I promise to look on at wicked waste? Do you want to
bring us to the workhouse, child?"
"Don't let us waste time in talking about what we settled a month
ago," replied Bertha decisively.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313