"Stop, Daisy," cried Preston. "Daisy, Daisy! you are the most obstinate Daisy that ever was, when once you have taken a thing in your head. Daisy, what have you to do with all this? Look here—these people don't want wages."
"Don't want wages?" I repeated.
"No; they don't want them. What would they do with wages? they have everything they need given them already; their food and their clothing and their houses. They do not want anything more."
"You said they did not have the food they liked," I objected.
"Who does?" said Preston. "I am sure I don't—not more than one day in seven, on an average."
"But don't they have any wages at all?" I persisted. "Our coachman at Melbourne had thirty dollars a month; and Logan had forty dollars and his house and garden. Why shouldn't
Darry have wages, too? Don't they have any wages at all, Preston?"
"Why, yes! they have plenty of corn, bread, and bacon, I tell you; and their clothes. Daisy, they belong to you, these people do."
Corn, bread, and bacon was not much like chickens and pound cake, I thought; and I remembered our servants at Melbourne were very, very differently dressed from the women I saw about me here, even in the house. I stood bewildered and pondering. Preston tried to get me to go on.
"Why shouldn't they have wages?" I asked at length, with lips which I believe were growing old with my thoughts.