"You must go right out of the parlor, Betsey," said Mrs. Piper, flourishing the poker; "I mean you, Susy—the parlor isn't any place for hired girls."
"Ma'am?" said Susy, inclining her head to one side, in order to hear better.
"O, dear! the plague of having a deaf girl!" moaned Mrs. Piper. "You don't know how trying it is, Mrs. Shotwell! That hired girl, Betsey, hears with her elbows, Mrs. Shotwell; I verily believe she does!"
"O, no, ma'am," replied Prudy; "I guess she doesn't hear with her elbows, does she? If she heard with her elbows, she wouldn't have to ask you over again!"
This queer little speech set Mr. Piper and his wife, and their servant, all to laughing, and Betsey looked at her elbows, to see if they were in the right place.
"Will you please, ma'am," said Prudy, "ask Betsey to hot a flatiron? I've cried my handkerchief all up!"
"Yes; go right out, Betsey, and hot a flatiron," said Mrs. Piper, very hospitably. "Go out, this instant, and build a fire, Betsey."
"Yes, go right out, Betsey," echoed Mr. Piper, who could find nothing better to do than to repeat his wife's words; for, in spite of himself, she did appear to be the "head of the family."
"It was my darlin' husband's handkerchief," sobbed Prudy.
"Rather a small one for a man," said Mr. Piper, laughing.