"Very well, Hannah. You are your own mistress in this respect," said
I, coolly. "I'm not in the least troubled about filling your place;
nor fearful of getting one who will waste a gallon of oil in four
days."

Hannah retired from my presence in high indignation, and I fully
expected that she would desert my house forthwith. But, no; unlike
some others of her class, she knew when she had a good place, and
had sense enough to keep it as long as she could stay.

In due time she cooled off, and I heard no more about her getting
another place.

"There's that fishy smell again!" exclaimed my husband, as he arose
up in bed one morning, a day or two afterwards, and snuffed the air.
"And, as I live, the fire in the heater is all out again! I'll have
some light on this subject, see if I don't."

And he sprung upon the floor, at the same time hurriedly putting on
his dressing gown and a pair of slippers.

"Where are you going?" said I, seeing him moving towards the door.

"To find out where this fishy smell comes from," he replied,
disappearing as he spoke.

In about five minutes, Mr. Smith returned.

"Well, if that don't beat all!" he exclaimed, as he re-entered the
chamber.