and subtly drawn by the younger woman's smiling enthusiasm.

"Have you much company, and does your husband bring home friends
without notice?" The older woman's harsh tones broke in.

The questions turned the scale. From the standpoint of strict
justice, the standard from which I always had tried to reason, she was
perfectly justified in asking the questions before she took the place.
But intuition told me that our home life would be a dreary thing with
this martinet in the kitchen.

"That will not trouble you," I said, "for I do not believe I wish your
services. Here is your car fare, and thank you for coming."

The woman took the car fare with the same stolidity she had shown
through the whole interview. "I do not think I would like you for a
madam, either," she said quietly as she went out.

The Polish girl bounced from her seat as soon as the door was closed.

"She no good to talk to you like that," she exclaimed. "She old crank,
anyway. You not like her. See me--I young, strong; I cook, wash, iron,
clean. I do everything. You do notting. I cook good, too; not so much
fancy, but awful good. My last madam, I with her one year. She sick,
go South yesterday. She cry, say 'I so sorry, Katie; you been so good
to me.' I cry, too. Read what she say about me."

I could read between the lines of the rather odd letter of
recommendation the girl handed me. I had dealt with many girls of
Katie's type in my teaching days. I knew the childish temper, the