Mrs. Mervin. No, we keep but one servant.
Ellen. Servint is it! Well, ma’am, that’s what I niver allows meself to be called. What sort of convainyences is there in the house? Is there a rocking-chair in the kitchen, where I can rest meself while the pot’s a-bilin’?
Mrs. Mervin. No, I don’t consider that a necessary article of kitchen furniture.
Ellen. We differs there, ma’am; I can’t do without a rocking-chair. I see you have a pianny. I s’pose ye wouldn’t mind if I learned to play on it afther me work is done—would ye?
Mrs. Mervin. I should object very strongly to giving a girl such a privilege.
Ellen. Well, ma’am, it’s gittin’ quite the fashion for the ladies that live out to play. Me cousin Kate Donnelly plays “St. Pathrick’s Day in the Mornin’,” and “Rory O’More,” illigant; and I’ve made up me mind I’ll live in no place agin where I can’t have the chance to play the pianny.
Mrs. Mervin. Then the quicker you look for such a place, the better. It isn’t worth while for me to spend any more time talking with you.
Ellen. Indade, it’s a very uncivil tongue ye have, ma’am; and it’s meself that ought to grumble for spendin’ me precious time talkin’ to the likes of you.
[Exit Ellen.
Emma. It grows worse and worse, mother! What are we coming to?