The truth was, she had had, for several days, a dim perception that
the indolence she had indulged in since released from her mother's
influence, was not half so delightful as she had anticipated. Her
physical and mental energies had remained so entirely quiescent,
that she began to think it would be rather a luxury to be a little
fatigued. She moreover half suspected that Deborah might, and would
do better, if not embarrassed with that feeling of hurry and
perplexity, which so many of what in colloquial phrase are sometimes
termed slow-moulded people, experience when obliged to divide their
attention among a variety of objects.

Monday morning, Emily determined that she would turn over a new
leaf: and a bright leaf it proved to be. She told Deborah, that for
the future she should take care of her own room, prepare the
dessert, and starch and iron all the nicer articles.

"I am glad to hear you say so, ma'am, I am sure," said Deborah, "for
when I have to keep going from one thing to another, my head spins
around like a top, and I can't do a single thing as it ought to be
done. How Pedy Breck got along so smooth and slick with the work, I
don't know, nor never shall. I can make as good light bread as ever
was--I won't give up to anybody--but when I made the last, my mind
was all stirred up with a puddin'-stick as 'twere, and I couldn't
remember whether I put any yeast into it or not."

From this time all went well. Deborah, in her slow way, proved to be
a treasure. She told Emily that, "Give her time, nobody could beat
her at a boiled dish, apple-dumplings, or a loaf of bread," and the
result proved that her words were no vain boast."