Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Gray departed, well pleased though withal a little frightened. She spent the rest of the afternoon in trying to decide between a black alpaca and a green cashmere dress.
That night Reuben brought home a large bag of peanuts and put them down in triumph on the kitchen table.
“There!” he announced in high glee, “I’m goin’ to have a bang-up good time!”
“Why, Reuben,” remonstrated his wife gently, “you can’t eat them things-- you hain’t got no teeth to chew ’em with!”
The man’s lower jaw dropped.
“Well, I’m a-goin’ to try it, anyhow,” he insisted. And try he did; but the way his poor old stomach rebelled against the half-masticated things effectually prevented a repetition of the feast.
Early on Monday morning Nancy appeared. Mrs. Gray assumed a brave aspect, but she quaked in her shoes as she showed the big strapping girl to her room. Five minutes later Nancy came into the kitchen to find Mrs. Gray bending over an obstinate coal fire in the range--with neither coal nor range was the little woman in the least familiar.
“There, now,” said Nancy briskly, “I’ll fix that. You just tell me what you want for dinner, and I can find the things myself.” And she attacked the stove with such a clatter and din that Mrs. Gray retreated in terror, murmuring “ham and eggs, if you please,” as she fled through the door. Once in the parlor, she seated herself in the middle of the room and thought how nice it was not to get dinner; but she jumped nervously at every sound from the kitchen.
On Tuesday she had mastered her fear sufficiently to go into the kitchen and make a cottage cheese. She did not notice the unfavorable glances of her maid-of-all-work. Wednesday morning she spent happily puttering over “doing up” some handkerchiefs, and she wondered why Nancy kept banging the oven door so often. Thursday she made a special kind of pie that Reuben liked, and remarked pointedly to Nancy that she herself never washed dishes without wearing an extra apron; furthermore, she always placed the pans the other way in the sink. Friday she rearranged the tins on the pantry shelves, that Nancy had so unaccountably mussed up. On Saturday the inevitable explosion came:
“If you please, mum, I’m willin’ to do your work, but seems to me it don’t make no difference to you whether I wear one apron or six, or whether I hang my dish-towels on a string or on the bars, or whether I wash goblets or kittles first; and I ain’t in the habit of havin’ folks spyin’ round on me. If you want me to go, I’ll go; but if I stay, I want to be let alone!”