nd was shut up in a room by
himself. After performing this rather unpleasant task, Mrs. Martinet
returned to the parlour, flushed, excited, and trembling in every
nerve.

"I expect that boy will kill me yet," she said, as she sank,
panting, into a chair. "It is surprising how stubborn and
self-willed he grows. I don't know how to account for it. He never
has his own way--I never yield an inch to him when he gets in these
terrible humours. Oh, dear! I feel sometimes like giving up in
despair."

I did not make a reply, for I could not say any thing that would not
have been a reproof of her impatient temper. After my friend had
grown calmer, she renewed her narrative about the dinner.

"As I was saying, when that boy interrupted us, I left the kitchen
very much worried, and felt worried all the morning. Several times I
went down to see how things were coming on, but it was plain that
Hannah did not mean to have dinner at the hour. When it was time to
put the meat on to roast, the fire was all down in the range. Half
an hour was lost in renewing it. As I expected, when my husband came
home for his dinner, at the regular time, the table was not even
set.

"'Bless me!' he said, 'isn't dinner ready? I told you that I wished
it at the hour, particularly. I have a business engagement at
half-past two, that must be met. It is too bad! I am out of all
patience with these irregularities. I can't wait, of course.'

"And saying this, Mr. Martinet turned upon his heel and left the
house. As you may suppose, I did not feel very comfortable, nor in a
very good humour with Hannah. When she made her appearance to set
the table, which was not for a quarter of an hour, I gave her about
as good a setting down, I reckon, as she ever had in her life. Of
course, I was paid back in impudence which I could not stand, and
therefore gave her notice to quit. If ever a woman was tried beyond
endurance, I am. My very life is becoming a burden to me. The worst
part of it is, there is no prospect of a change for the better.
Things, instead of growing better, grow worse."

"It is not so bad as that, I hope," I could not help remarking.
"Have you never thought of a remedy for the evils of which you
complain?"

"A remedy, Kate! What remedy is there?"

Mrs. Martinet looked at me curiously.

"If not a remedy, there is, I am sure, a palliative," I returned,
feeling doubtful of the effect of what I had it in my mind to
express.

"What is the re