'Who has made your toast while I have been away, papa?' Esther asked, unable to-night to endure this silence.
'My toast? Oh, Barker, of course.'
'Did she make it right?'
'Right? My dear, I have given up expecting to have servants do somethings as they ought to be done. Toast is one of the things. They are outside of the limitations of the menial mind.'
'What is the reason, papa? Can't they be taught?'
'I don't know, my dear. I never have been able to teach them. They always think toast is done when it is brown, and the browner the better, I should say. Also it is beyond their comprehension that thickness makes a difference. There was an old soldier once I had under me in India; he was my servant; he was the only man I ever saw who could make a piece of toast.'
'What are some of the other things that cannot be taught, papa?'
'A cup of tea.'
'Does not Barker make your tea good?' asked Esther, in some dismay.
'She can do many other things,' said the colonel. 'She is a very competent woman.'