"On which leg she felt the worse,
She couldn't 'a' told you, 'nother,"—
when suddenly an inspiration of deliverance seized her. The fact that it had not seized her months before was simply another proof of devotion to the sun of her existence. Each time she entered the massive gates to her place of torture, she left such mentality as she possessed behind her. As well might a fish be expected to navigate in the free air of heaven as Eliza in these marble halls. This was her mistress's element. Let her guide. But one memorable day the two were standing before a marine.
"Oh, Eliza, that's new!" exclaimed Mrs. Ballard; and from the vigor of her tone, her handmaid feared the worst. She had believed they were nearly ready to depart. Now her companion seemed inspired for another two hours.
"Might it not have been painted from your island," continued Mrs. Ballard. "What adorable work!"
"Wonderful, ain't it!" came Eliza's wooden accents.
"What feeling!" murmured her rapt companion.
"I only hope 'tain't sciatica," thought Eliza, wiggling her hip. Her casually roving eye caught sight of one vacancy on the bench in the middle of the room.
"Don't you want to sit down a spell and look at it, Mrs. Ballard?" she asked. "There's a place."
"No," was the slow, absent reply. "I seem to prefer to stand in its presence—a royal presence, Eliza."