"And have they discharged my cook—poor, faithful Nancy? Is this so, Benson? Who has done it? How dare they!" cried Mabel, surprised and indignant. "Why did she not come to me? Has Nancy really gone?"
"Yes, marm, I saw her myself go off to the city, with a bandbox under her arm, and a man behind, carrying her trunk."
"But what was her offence?"
"She didn't keep the General's woodcocks quite long enough to make 'em tender—sarved 'em up too fresh and sweet—I don't know of nothing else that they brought agin her."
"And she has gone—actually gone!"
"Bag and baggage, marm; they made clean work of it."
"They? Of whom do you speak? Not of Lina, not of Mr. Harrington—who, but the General, himself, would dare to discharge my servants?"
"In course, nobody but the old Gineral could do it; but that are gov'rness, marm, as has been a whispering with him in his room and out on it, ever since you've been shut up here. She's been a-doing some of that ere Borger work in a new way, pizening the mind, instead of the stomach. Since that ere black-eyed pussy-cat came here and got to mousing around, there hasn't been a mite of comfort anywhere, in-doors or out. The very boat, as was as kind a craft as ever tuk to water's got to running contrary, and is allus cutting across currents, and tussling agin the wind. It ain't Christian, and as like as not, it's slandering the poor feller to say it, but my 'pinion is, that Ben Benson's a-beginning to hate that ere gal like pizon."
Mabel was so occupied with new thoughts, that she did not hear the conclusion of this speech, but sat gazing steadily on the carpet.
"What can all this mean," she reflected. "The General has not been to see me since the first day of my illness; then the half insolent air of this girl—the discharge of my old servant, what can it mean?"