"_Hetty the Serving-maid's Petition to her Mother._"
"Dear mother, you were once in the ew'n [oven],
As by us cakes is plainly shewn,
Who else had ne'er come arter:
Pray speak a word in time of need,
And with my sour-looked father plead
For your distressed darter!"

Nancy and Kezzy laughed; the younger at the absurd drawl, which hit
off the Wroote dialect to a hair; Nancy indulgently--she was safely
betrothed to one John Lambert, an honest land-surveyor, and Mr.
Wesley's tyranny towards suitors troubled her no longer. But the
others were silent, and a tear dropped on the back of poor Molly's
hand.

As Hetty took it penitently, Patty spoke again. "You are wrong, at
all events," she persisted, "about papa's being in the house, for I
saw him leave it, more than half an hour ago, and walk off on the
Bawtry road."

"He has gone to meet mother, then," said Kezzy, "and poor Sander will
have to trudge the last two miles."

"Pray Heaven, then, they do not quarrel!" sighed Emilia, shutting the
book.

"My dear!" Hetty assured her, "that is past praying for. She will be
weary to death; and he, as you know, is in a mood to-day! Though you
thought it unfeeling, I rejoiced when he announced he was not riding
to Bawtry to meet her but would send Sander instead: for whatever