A shrill voice called from far below:
“Victoria—May—Yall—liss!”
The little maid-of-all-work went out of the door, and, leaning over the balustrade, she called down the stairs at the top pitch of her shrill voice, standing a-tiptoe to give her lean lungs full play:
“Yes—marm! I’m a-com—ing!”
She came back into the room, and added placidly:
“I ’ate ’er voice. It goes through yer like a gimlet.... But (sniff) she ain’t bad—not all through—when you knows ’er.” She sniffed.
The shrill voice came mounting up the stairs:
“Victoria—May—Yall—liss!”
The untidy child stepped quickly back to the door, and putting out her head through the cranny, yelled, with sing-song delivery:
“Yes—marm!—I’m a-comin’—I’m—a-coming! The top floor’s a-wantin’ coals hasty, marm; and a-gettin’ nasty about the size of the scuttles!”