Faith judged rightly that this was a salvo put in for pride. The Yankee girl would not appear anxious for a servile situation. All the while the conversation went on, she sat tilting herself gently back and forth in the rocking-chair, with a lazy touching of her toes to the floor. Her very vis inertiæ would not let her stop.
Faith's only question, now, was with herself—how she should get away again. She had no idea that this huge, indolent creature would be at all suitable as their servant. And then, her utter want of manners!
"I'll tell my mother what you say," said she, rising.
"What's your mother's name, and where d'ye live?"
"We live at Kinnicutt Cross Corners. My mother is Mrs. Henderson Gartney."
"'M!"
Faith turned toward the kitchen.
"Look here!" called the stout young woman after her; "you may jest say if she wants me she can send for me. I don't mind if I try it a spell."
"I didn't ask your name," remarked Faith.
"Oh! my name's Mis' Battis!"