One morning, about a week after the removal to the new house, the office door suddenly opened, and “Cobbler” Horn emerged into the hall in a state of great excitement, holding an open letter in his hand.
“Jemima!” he shouted.
The only response was a sound of angry voices from the region of the kitchen, amidst which he recognised his sister’s familiar tones. Surely Jemima was not having trouble with the servants! Approaching the kitchen door, he pushed it slightly open, and peeped into the room. Miss Jemima was emphatically laying down the law to the young and comely cook, who stood back against the table, facing her mistress, with the rolling-pin in her hand, and rebellion in every curve of her figure and in every feature of her face.
“You are a saucy minx,” Miss Jemima was saying, in her sharpest tones.
“‘Minx’ yourself,” was the pert reply. “No mistress shan’t interfere with me and my work, as you’ve done this last week. If you was a real lady, you wouldn’t do it.”
“You rude girl, I’ll teach you to keep your place.”
“Keep your own,” rapped out the girl; “and it ’ull be the better for all parties. As for me, I shan’t keep this place, and I give you warning from now, so there!”
At this moment, the girl caught sight of her master’s face at the door, and flinging herself around to the table, resumed her work. Miss Jemima, in her great anger, advanced a pace or two, with uplifted hand, towards the broad back of her rebellious cook: “Cobbler” Horn, observing the position of affairs, spoke in emphatic tones.
“Jemima, I want you at once.”
Miss Jemima started, and then, without a word, followed her brother to the dining-room.