"No, sir," replied Helen, in trembling tones.
"Learn, d'ye hear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can you sweep—make a shirt—wash—iron?" he burst out.
"No, sir," she said, trembling.
"What are you good for, then?" he inquired, sternly.
"I don't know, sir; I can play on the harp," faltered Helen.
"Play the devil! You are a pretty, curly wax doll—good for nothing, and cumbering the very earth that you live on."
Helen said nothing, but tears rolled over her cheeks.
"But I will have no idlers about me. You shall learn to be useful and industrious. D'ye understand?"