g on her who had
remembered that, though poor, she was still human.

Economy is a good thing, and should be practiced by all, but it
should show itself in denying ourselves, not in oppressing others.
We see persons spending dollar after dollar foolishly one hour, and
in the next trying to save a five penny piece off of a wood-sawyer,
coal-heaver, or market-woman. Such things are disgraceful, if not
dishonest.

CHAPTER XIX.

LOTS OF THINGS.

"O DEAR!" said I to Mr. Smith one morning, as we arose from the
breakfast-table, at which we had been partaking of rather a
badly-cooked meal,--"more trouble in prospect."

"What's the matter now?" asked Mr. Smith, with a certain emphasis on
the word "now" that didn't sound just agreeable to my ears.

"Oh, nothing! nothing!" I answered, with as much indifference of
manner as I could assume.

"You spoke of trouble," said he, kindly, "and trouble, in my
experience, is rather more tangible than 'nothing.'"

"I've another raw Irish girl in the kitchen, who, according to her
own confession, hasn't been above ten days in the country. Isn't
that enough?"

"I should think so. But, why, in the name of goodness did you take
another of these green islanders into your house?"

"It's easy enough to ask questions, Mr. Smith," said I, a little
fretfully; "but--" I checked myself. We looked at each other,
smiled, and--said no more on the subject.

"Your name is Anna, I believe?" said I, as I stepped to the
kitchen-door, a couple of hours afterwards.

"Thot's me name," replied the new domestic.

"I will send home a loin of veal and some green peas," said I. "They
are for dinner, which must be ready at two o'clock. You know how to
roast a piece of veal, I presume?"

"Lave me for thot same, honey!"

"And the green peas?"

"All right, mum. I've lived in quality houses since I was so high. I
can cook ony thing."

"Very well, Anna. We will see. I have to go out this morning; and
you must do the best you can. Don't fail to have dinner ready by two
o'clock. Mr. Smith is a punctual man."

Anna was profuse in her promises.

"If," said I, recollecting myself, as I was about opening the street
door, and returning along the passage,--"If any thing is sent home
for me, be sure to take it up stairs and lay it carefully on my
bed."

"Yes, mum."

"Now don't forget this, Anna."

"Och! niver fear a hate, mum," was the girl's answer. "I'll not
forget a word iv y'r insthructions.