A little maid

by Amy Le Feuvre

"Not if the disease is too far gone," said the doctor, "or is incurable."

"Yes," said Peggy, the dreamy look taking possession of her blue eyes; "and I s'pose some leaves their souls till they be too far gone; that be why I does want to hurry off to the heathen."

"And what are you going to do to them?"

"Only tell 'em who can cure their souls, sir. It do seem so dreadful for some on 'em to have to wait till I gets out at 'em."

"So you mean to be a preacher? Are you a Salvation lass?"

"Please, sir, I'm a servant-maid."

Up went Peggy's chin at once. If she had been a duchess, she could not have owned it with greater pride.

"And I'm in a real good place," she went on, with a little nod at him, "and I'm partickly anxious to get back as quick as ever as I can."

"Well, we'll make a good job of you," said the doctor, "but I think if I were you, I'd stick to your place and leave the heathen alone."

"'Tis what I looks forward to—the heathen," said Peggy; then she rapidly changed the subject.