Mrs. Mervin. I should think she was. (Bell rings.) There’s another; this time an artist, perhaps. I’ll go straight to the office, and have that advertisement taken out.
Enter Mary.
Mary. Is this Mrs. Mervin who advertised for a girl?
Mrs. Mervin. Yes, I am the lady. Do you know of any good girl?
Mary. I would like to get a place myself. I have worked in a shop since I left my home in the country, three years ago; but I find the confinement doesn’t agree with me, and I had rather do housework.
Mrs. Mervin. You understand it, then, I suppose.
Mary. Oh, yes! I am next to the oldest in a family of nine children, and my mother commenced teaching me to do housework almost as soon as I could go alone. As soon as the sister next me could take my place, I left home to see if I could earn something to help along. A man like my father, with a small farm and a large family of children, finds it rather hard to get along sometimes.
Mrs. Mervin. Yes, he must find it hard to feed and clothe so many, with so little ready money as farmers generally have. You are a dutiful daughter to endeavor to assist him what you can; but would your parents approve of your living out in the city?
Mary. Yes: ever since my side has ached with such constant sewing, mother has been urging me to live out; and I should have tried to get a place long before this, only I dreaded so much to go to an intelligence-office. When I saw your advertisement, I decided to apply here immediately.
Mrs. Mervin. I am very glad you did, for I should like to engage you without further delay. How soon can you come?