like a water-wagtail, pointed out the malefactor. Then she whispered,
"Look! How dare she? My very jacket! Earrings too, and brooches, and
dresses her hair like mine."

"Well, never mind," whispered Staines. "Sunday is her day. We have
got all the week to shine. There, don't look at her--'From all evil
speaking, lying, and slandering'"--

"I can't keep my eyes off her."

"Attend to the Litany. Do you know, this is really a beautiful
composition?"

"I'd rather do the work fifty times over myself."

"Hush! people will hear you."

When they walked home after church, Staines tried to divert her from the
consideration of her wrongs; but no--all other topics were too flat by
comparison.

She mourned the hard fate of mistresses--unfortunate creatures that
could not do without servants.

"Is not that a confession that servants are good, useful creatures,
with all their faults? Then as to the mania for dress, why, that is not
confined to them. It is the mania of the sex. Are you free from it?"

"No, of course not. But I am a lady, if you please."