d we loved our new home more and more.

Our German girl did not suit us exactly at first, and day by day she
grew to suit us less. She was a quiet, kindly, pleasant creature, and
delighted in an out-of-door life. She was as willing to weed in the
garden as she was to cook or wash. At first I was very much pleased with
this, because, as I remarked to Euphemia, you can find very few girls
who would be willing to work in the garden, and she might be made very
useful.

But, after a time, Euphemia began to get a little out of patience with
her. She worked out-of-doors entirely too much. And what she did there,
as well as some of her work in the house, was very much like certain
German literature--you did not know how it was done, or what it was for.

One afternoon I found Euphemia quite annoyed.

"Look here," she said, "and see what that girl has been at work at,
nearly all this afternoon. I was upstairs sewing and thought she was
ironing. Isn't it too provoking?"

It WAS provoking. The contemplative German had collected a lot of short
ham-bones--where she found them I cannot imagine--and had made of them
a border around my wife's flower-bed. The bones stuck up straight a few
inches above the ground, all along the edge of the bed, and the marrow
cavity of each one was filled with earth in which she had planted seeds.

"'These,' she says, 'will spring up and look beautiful,'" said Euphemia;
"they have that style of thing in her country."

"Then let her take them off with her to her country," I exclaimed.

"No, no," said Euphemia, hurriedly, "don't kick them out. It would only
wound her feelings. She did it all for the best, and thought it
would please me to have such a border around my bed. But she is too
independent, and neglects her proper work. I will give her a week's
notice and get another servant. When she goes we can take these horrid
bones away. But I hope nobody will call on us in the meantime."

"Must we keep these things here a whole week?" I asked.

"Oh, I can't turn her away without giving her a fair notice. That would
be cruel."

I saw the truth of the remark, and determined to bear with the bones and
her rather than be unkind.

That night Euphemia informed the girl of her decision, and the next
morning, soon after I had left, the good German appeared with her bonnet
on and her carpet-bag in her hand, to take leave of her mistress.

"What!" cried Euphemia. "You are not going to-day?"

"If it is g