A lady living in one of our obscure New-England towns, where there
were no servants to be hired, at last, by sending to a distant city,
succeeded in procuring a raw Irish maid-of-all-work, a creature of
immense bone and muscle, but of heavy, unawakened brain. In one
fortnight she established such a reign of Chaos and old Night in the
kitchen and through the house that her mistress, a delicate woman,
encumbered with the care of young children, began seriously to think
that she made more work each day than she performed, and dismissed
her. What was now to be done? Fortunately, the daughter of a neighboring
farmer was going to be married in six months, and wanted a little ready
money for her _trousseau_. The lady was informed that Miss So-and-so
would come to her, not as a servant, but as hired "help." She was fain
to accept any help with gladness.
Forthwith came into the family-circle a tall, well-dressed young person,
grave, unobtrusive, self-respecting, yet not in the least presuming,
who sat at the family table and observed all its decorums with the
modest self-possession of a lady. The new-comer took a survey of the
labors of a family of ten members, including four or five young
children, and, looking, seemed at once to throw them into system;
matured her plans, arranged her hours of washing, ironing, baking, and
cleaning; rose early, moved deftly; and in a single day the slatternly
and littered kitchen assumed that neat, orderly appearance that so
often strikes one in New England farm-houses.
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