The woman looked at her with a sour surly glance.
“Maybe you’ll come to it, one of these yer days. I’d be glad to see you, I would; then you’ll be glad of a drop, like me, to forget your misery.”
“Come, Prue,” said Dinah, “let’s look at your rusks. Here’s Missis will pay for them.”
Miss Ophelia took out a couple of dozen.
“Thar’s some tickets in that ar old cracked jug on the top shelf,” said Dinah. “You, Jake, climb up and get it down.”
“Tickets,—what are they for?” said Miss Ophelia.
“We buy tickets of her Mas’r, and she gives us bread for ’em.”
“And they counts my money and tickets, when I gets home, to see if I ’s got the change; and if I han’t, they half kills me.”
“And serves you right,” said Jane, the pert chambermaid, “if you will take their money to get drunk on. That’s what she does, Missis.”
“And that’s what I will do,—I can’t live no other ways,—drink and forget my misery.”