The driver jumped down, ran up the steps, pulled a rusty knob fastened to the door stone, and faced round towards his horses.
A girl I should consider as hired help opened the door.
"Is Mrs. Smith at home?" says I, a-putting my head out of the window.
"Yes," says she.
"I'll get out," says I.
The driver unfolded a lot of steps that had been hid away under the windows. I went down them with a genteel trip. The man had been so polite, I stopped to thank him.
"Three dollars," says he, a holding out his hand.
"Three dollars? What for?" says I, all in a flutter.
"For bringing you here," says he. "Stopping on the way, and so on."
"But you invited me."