"Then how am I to make a fire to cook with?" asked the girl.
"In the range, of course," said Sophronia.
Our domestic's next remark had, at least, the effect of teaching what was her nationality:
"An' do ye think that I'd ax fur a sthove av dhere was a range in the house? Dhivil a bit!"
"Never mind, dear," said I soothingly; "I'm an old soldier; I'll make a fire out of doors, and give you as nice a cup of tea and plate of hot biscuit as you ever tasted. And I'll order a stove the first thing in the morning."
Sophronia consented, and our domestic was appeased. Then I asked the domestic to get some water while I should make the fire. The honest daughter of toil was absent for many moments, and when she returned, it was to report, with some excitement, that there was neither well nor cistern on the premises.
Then I grew angry, and remarked, in Sophronia's hearing, that we were a couple of fools, to take a house without first proving whether the agent had told the truth. But Sophronia, who is a consistent optimist, rebuked me for my want of faith in the agent.
"Pierre," said she, "it is unmanly to charge a fellow-man with falsehood upon the word of a menial. I know that agent tells the truth, for he has such liquid blue eyes; besides, his house is right next to the Presbyterian Church."
Either one of these powerful arguments was sufficient to silence me, of course; so I took the pail, and sought well and cistern myself. But if either was on the place, it was so skillfully secreted that I could not find the slightest outward evidence of it. Finally, to be thorough, I paced the garden from front to rear, over lines not more than ten feet apart, and then scrutinized the fence-corners.
While at this work, I was approached by a gentleman, who seemed to come from a house two or three hundred yards off.