“Yes'm, if you please,” came in strange, meek accents. “I'd like to speak with you.”
It was so entirely out of the course of human events for Myrtella to assume humility, that Miss Lady looked at her in amazement.
“I can't say,” began Myrtella, still half behind the door, “that I like the way things is run in this house. I'm thinkin' some of givin' notice.”
“Why, Myrtella!” cried Miss Lady in dismay. “I'm afraid the work is too heavy. We might get—”
“Needn't mind finishing, Mis' Squeerington, you was goin' to say a house girl. If you think I'd share my room with any Dutch or Irish biddy, I must say you're mighty mistaken! Besides, ain't I givin' satisfaction? Ain't I doin' the work to suit you?”
“Of course you are, but I thought you—”
“Was gettin' old, I suppose, and couldn't do as much work as I used to. I look feeble, don't I?”
Miss Lady glanced at the massive figure with brawny arms akimbo, and smiled.
“Well, what's the trouble then?” she asked kindly. “Why do you want to leave?”
Myrtella's eyes shifted as she rubbed some imaginary dust from the door: