at is her name?" I asked.

"Mrs. Partridge," was answered.

"You think she won't disappoint me?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. I don't think Mrs. Partridge is the kind of a woman to
promise and then disappoint a person."

It was some relief to think I was going to get my washing done; but the
idea of having the ironing about all the week fretted my mind. And no
sooner was this leading trouble set aside, than I began to worry about
the children's clothes, and the prospect of losing my cook, who had
managed my kitchen more to my satisfaction than any one had ever done
before.

The promise for a pleasant hour at home was but little more flattering
to my husband, when he returned in the evening, than it had been at
dinner time. I was still in a sombre mood.

In the morning Mrs. Partridge came early and commenced the washing.
There was something in this woman's appearance that interested me, and
something in her face that reminded me of somebody I had seen before;
but when and where I could not tell. Although her clothes were poor and
faded, there was nothing common about her, and she struck me as being
superior to her class. Several times during the morning I had to go
into the kitchen where she was at work, and each time her appearance
impressed me more and more. An emotion of pity arose in my bosom, as I
saw her bending over the washing tub, and remembered that, for this
hard labour during a whole day, the pay was to be but seventy-five
cents. And yet there was an air of meek patience, if not contentment,
in her face; while I, who had every thing from which I ought to have
derived happiness, was dissatisfied and full of trouble. While in her
presence I felt rebuked for my complaining spirit.

At dinner time Mrs. Partridge came to my room, and with a gentle,
patient smile on her face, said--

"If you have no objections, ma'am, I would like to run home for a few
minutes to nurse my baby and give the children something to eat. I'll
make up the time."

"Go by all means," I replied, with an effort to speak calmly.

The woman turned, and went quickly away.

"Run home to nurse the baby and give the children something to eat!"
The words went through and through me. So unexpected a request,
revealing, as it did, the existence of such biting poverty in one who
was evidently bearing her hard lot without a murmur, made me feel
ashamed of myself for complaining at things which I ought to have borne
with a cheerful spirit. I had a com