"How much does she have a day?"
"Six shillings, ma'am."
"I haven't the change this evening. Tell her that I'll pay for both days to-morrow."
The girl left the room, and I thought no more of Polly for an hour. Tea-time had come and passed, when one of my domestics, who was rather communicative in her habits, said to me:
"I don't think old Polly liked your not paying her this evening."
"She must be very unreasonable, then," said I, without reflection. "I sent her word that I had no change. How did she expect I could pay her?"
"Some people are queer, you know, Mrs. Graham," remarked the girl who had made the communication, more for the pleasure of telling it than any thing else.
I kept thinking over what the girl had said, until other suggestions came into my mind.
"I wish I had sent and got a bill changed," said I, as the idea that Polly might be really in want of money intruded itself. "It would have been very little trouble."
This was the beginning of a new train of reflections, which did not make me very happy. To avoid a little trouble, I had sent the poor old woman away, after a hard day's work, without her money. That she stood in need of it was evident from the fact that she had asked for it.