"You don't have company very often," said Annie consolingly.
"That we don't!" cried Ellen. "An' the house is so lonesome an' shut up 'tis like a tomb to live in. If there was dancin' an' singin' an' laughin' the way there is over here I'd be glad enough. Wit' Mr. Jasper an' Mr. Harry so quiet an' frownin' an never sayin' a word—Oh, if I had someone like Miss Ethel to do for 'tis willin' enough I'd be to iron her dresses. That night she had her party an' I come over to help, an' you an' Pete was dancin' in the kitchen to the music, an' after the guests was served we had a table set out on the back veranda—'tis then I was wishin' I lived in a place like this. An' Miss Ethel come out when we was eatin' an' asked was we tired an' said thank you for sittin' up so late, an' she was glad if we was havin' a good time, too."
Annie sighed, and her eyes wandered somewhat guiltily to the dress on the floor.
"Mrs. Carter orders me around just as if I was a machine," she reiterated, in a tone of self-defence.
"An' it's orderin' around ye've got to learn to take in this world," said Ellen. "If ye occasionally get a 'thank ye,' thrown in, ye can think yourself lucky—it's more 'n I get. I've darned Mr. Harry's socks for eleven years, an' never a word o' notice does he take—I'm doubtin' he even knows they're darned. 'Tis a thankless world, Annie dear. Thirteen years I've worked for the Jaspers, an' on top o' that to ask me for soup, an' fish, an' roast, an' salad, an' dessert on a Fort' o' July night!"
Ellen showed signs of breaking down again and Annie hastily interposed.
"Don't cry about it, Ellen; it's too bad, it is, but Mr. Jasper likely didn't think what a lot o' trouble he was makin'. He ain't never washed no dishes an' he don't know what it's like. I'll come over an' help you do them."
"But ye won't be here. Ye're goin' yerself," Ellen blubbered.
Annie was silent.
"Thirteen years an' 'tis the only home I've got."