“I ain't used to working fer a lady that don't take no holt. It don't seem natural, and it leaves folks room to talk.”
“But I thought you wanted to have full charge and run things just as you have done in the past.”
“Well, it don't look right fer you not to be givin' me no orders, nor rowin' the grocery man, nor lightin' into nobody. If folks didn't know better they'd think you wasn't used to bein' a lady!”
Miss Lady bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I'll be only too glad to keep house, only I don't know much about it. Aunt Caroline and Uncle Jimpson did everything out home, and you've done everything here.”
“Well, I ain't goin' to no longer,” said Myrtella firmly. “If you want to light in and learn, I'll learn you. But I ain't going to stay except on one condition, you got to take a holt of everything! You got to lock things up and give me out what I need. You got to order all the meals and tell me what you want done every mornin'. I ain't goin' to have people throwin' it in my face that I work for a lady that don't know a skillet from a saucepan!”
“You're right, Myrtella,” said Miss Lady, her face grown suddenly grave. “I don't wonder you are ashamed of me. Perhaps some good hard work will brush the cobwebs out of my brain. When shall I take charge of things, to-morrow?”
“As you say,” said Myrtella meekly; then with a sudden flare, “though it does look like I might be trusted one more day to finish up the general cleaning and git after the ashman for not emptyin' them barrels.”
“Friday, then?”
“Friday,” said Myrtella as one who signed her own death warrant, and the young mistress gazing absently out of the window little guessed that a powerful usurper was voluntarily abdicating a throne in order that the rightful owner might come into her own.