kitchen. This was observed by the new cook, who had a strong dislike
of negroes, and who feared that she might be expected to occupy the
same bed.

"An' faith," said she, "is it where the like of ya have burrowed that
I am to turn in?"

"I don't understand no such low-flung stuff," answered Polly, "but if
you mean you are to have this bedroom, I suppose you are."

Here Polly had occasion to go up-stairs for something, and on her
return she found that Ruth, during her absence, had set fire to a
large linen rag, which she held on a shovel and was carrying about the
bedroom, as if to purify it from every atom of negro atmosphere which
might remain. Polly was quick-witted, and instantly comprehending the
truth, she struck the shovel from the hands of Ruth, exclaiming, "You
spalpeen, is it because my skin ain't a dingy yaller and all freckled
like yourn? Lord, look at your carrot-topped cocoanut, and then tell
me if wool ain't a heap the most genteel."

In a moment a portion of the boasted wool was lying on the floor, or
being shaken from the thick, red fingers of the cook, while Irish
blood was flowing freely from the nose which Polly, in her vengeful
wrath, had wrung. Further hostilities were prevented by Robin, who
screamed that he couldn't wait any longer, and shaking her fist
fiercely at the red-head, Polly departed.

That day Lucy and Rachel also left, and their places were supplied by
two raw hands, one of whom, before the close of the second day,
tumbled up-stairs with the large soup tureen, breaking it in fragments