Mrs. Hale, a New Yorker by birth, until her marriage had spent her life in the North, and while she had quickly succumbed to the spell which the Capital City casts over those who come to its hospitable doors, she had never taken kindly to employing negro servants. She did not understand the African character, and her one attempt to adjust herself to the conditions then prevailing in domestic service in the District of Columbia had proved a dismal failure. With her husband’s hasty approval she had sent to New York and engaged French and English servants.
Aside from her eccentricities, Mrs. Hale was a kind and thoughtful mistress, and the servants remained long in her employ. Even during the chaotic war-time conditions in Washington, with the influx of war-workers and deserters from the domestic field, her servants had loyally remained with her in preference to seeking Government “positions” as elevator women and messengers.
It required a person in Anna’s state of mind to find fault with the large, cozily furnished bedroom in which she sat. A coal fire on the hearth added its cheerful glow, and at her elbow was an electric reading lamp ready for instant service when the winter afternoon drew to a close.
Anna scowled at her reflection in the mirrored paneling of the door leading to the bathroom which she and “cook,” a Swede, shared with Maud, the parlor maid. For nearly twenty-four hours she had been kept captive inside the four walls of her bedroom, and her restless spirit rebelled. Fate, in the guise of a treacherous high-heeled slipper, had given her an ugly tumble down the kitchen stairs on her way to bed the night before, and Dr. McLane’s assurance that she had had a lucky escape did not assuage Anna’s sense of personal grievance nor deaden the pain of her physical injury.
Footsteps and the clatter of dishes, as a tray was brought in slight contact with the stair turning, came distinctly through the open door leading to the hall. Anna’s downcast look vanished. Seizing the cards, she was intent on laying out her favorite solitaire when Maud entered, bearing a tray loaded with appetizing dishes.
“I’m a bit late,” she explained apologetically, as Anna swept the playing cards into her lap to make a place on the table for the tray. “But there’s been a pile of coming and going in and out of the house, and it keeps a body moving.”
“Sit down and have a cup of tea with me,” suggested Anna, on whom the extra cup and saucer on the tray had not been lost. Maud had evidently anticipated the invitation, judging also from the amount of cinnamon toast and thin slices of bread and butter. “I am sorry, Maud, to have more work thrown on you just now; perhaps I can hobble downstairs to-morrow. Dr. McLane seemed to think I might.”
“Now, you rest easy,” advised Maud earnestly. “I can handle the work all right, and Mr. Hale said he would come down handsome for it.”
“He did!” Anna’s eyes had narrowed to thin slits, but Maud, intent on consuming as much tea and toast as was humanly possible in a given time, was oblivious of her facial contortions. “Mr. Hale is a generous gentleman; you stick by him, Maud.”
“You bet. What he says goes,” Maud nodded enthusiastically. “Funny household, ain’t it? A dead easy one if you are in the ‘know,’” and she chuckled. “Let me pour you out another cup, Miss Anna,” and, not waiting for permission, she replenished Anna’s tea, at the same time refilling her own cup. “My, don’t cook make good toast! No wonder Major Richards is so partial to it.”