we had ony need o' anither." "She makes a good mistress
anyway," said loyal Mawson.

"Oh, she's no bad," Bella admitted. "An' I must say she disna gie much
trouble--but it's an idle life for ony wumman. I canna see why Miss
Reston, wi' a' her faculties aboot her, needs you hingin' round her.
Mercy me, what's to hinder her pu'in ribbons through her ain
underclothes, if ribbons are necessary, which they're not. There's Mrs.
Muir next door, wi' six bairns, an' a' the wark o' the hoose to dae an'
washin's forbye, an' here's Miss Reston never liftin' a finger except to
pu' silk threads through a bit stuff. That's what makes folk
Socialists."

Mawson, who belonged to that fast disappearing body, the real servant
class, and who, without a thought of envy, delighted in the possession
of her mistress, looked sadly puzzled.

"But, Beller, don't you think things work out more h'even than they
seem? Mrs. Muir next door works very 'ard. I've seen her put out a
washin' by seven o'clock in the morning, but then she 'as a good 'usband
and an 'ealthy family and much pleasure in 'er work. Miss Reston lies
soft and drinks her mornin' tea in comfort, but she never knows the
satisfied feelin' that Mrs. Muir 'as when she takes in 'er clean
clothes."

"Weel, mebbe you're right. I'm nae Socialist masel'. There maun aye be
rich and poor, Dives in the big hoose and Lazarus at the gate. But so
long as we're sure that Dives'll catch it in the end, and Lazarus lie
soft in Abraham's bosom, we can pit up wi' the unfairness here. An'
speakin' about Miss Reston, I dinna mind her no' working. Ye can see by
the look of her that she never was meant to work, but just to get
everything done for her. Can ye picture her peelin' tatties? The verra
thocht's rideeclus. She's juist for lookin' at, like the floors and a'
the bonnie things ... But it's thae new folk that pit up ma birse. That
Mrs. Duff-Whalley, crouse cat! Rollin' aboot wrap up in furs in a great
caur, patronisin' everybody that's daft enough to let theirselves be
patronised by her. Onybody could see she's no used to it. She's so ta'en
up wi' hersel'. It's kinda play-actin' for her ... An' there's naebody
gives less to charitable objects. I suppose when ye've paid and fed sae
mony servants, and dressed yersel' in silks and satins, and bocht every
denty ye can think of, and kept up a great big hoose an' a great muckle
caur, there's no' that much left for the kirk-plate, or the heathen, or
the