u have been very faithful.

ANDREW. You have fed me well, paid me well, and, what is far better, you
are good and kind to me, which I like more than money, because the one
you owe me, and the other you give me of your own free will.

MRS. L. Well, Andrew--

ANDREW. Well, Mrs. Langdon, I am going to leave you against my own
desire. You are an excellent mistress, and I don't want to leave you,
but it must be--

MRS. L. Andrew, I am surprised! Why do you wish to leave me? Have you
anything to complain of? Have I done you any injustice?

ANDREW. Oh no, ma'am! You are all kindness and goodness; neither proud,
scolding, nor brutal; _but everybody is not like you_.

MRS. L. Do the other servants impose upon you?

ANDREW. Oh dear, no, ma'am! they are good and honest.

MRS. L. What do you complain of, then?

ANDREW. Why, ma'am, since I have begun, I will go on. Every man who
respects himself, takes a pride in his work. If he is a gardener, he
likes to hear people say, "There is a capital garden! Those vegetable
beds are very nicely kept!" Well, it makes me mad to see your money and
my work all wasted and destroyed.

MRS. L. But how?

ANDREW. That's just it. I know how, and you don't.

MRS. L. Will you tell me?

ANDREW. Well, it's Master Ned.

MRS. L. Master Ned?

ANDREW. Yes, ma'am. He is a perfect little Satan; he keeps me running
after him, till I am out of breath, and perfectly hoarse with talking.

MRS. L. Why! What has he done?

ANDREW. The same he does every day: ten ground moles, fifteen chickens,
twenty pigs, would do less injury in a year than he does in one day. He
upsets the planks, tears up the walks, breaks the windows of the hot
beds, tramples on the flowers, breaks down the pear trees, plays the
mischief in the vegetable garden, and runs off with my tools. I can't
stop him; and when I say, "Master Ned, you must not hinder me so in my
work; if you want to turn double somersets, go and do it in your dear
mamma's parlor; go and plague Mr. Sherwood, or Patrick, or, still
better, torment Jane, and leave me to plant my cabbages." Do you know
how he answers? By cracking me over the shoulders with his switch, and
crying out, "Look out, old potato top, or I'll tumble you into the pond."
I might as well ask the river to run up hill. And look here, ma'am, see
this picture (_shows picture_) he drew of me, watering the garden in a
thunder storm, as if I ever did such a thing! or looked like that,
either!