CHAPTER XXVII.
MY WASHERWOMAN.
WE were sitting at tea one evening--Mr.Smith, my sister and her husband, Mr.John Jones, and myself.

In the midst of a pleasant conversation, Bridget looked into the dining-room.
"What is wanted ?" said I.
"Mary Green is down stairs." "Oh! the washerwoman." "Yes ma'am." "Well, what does she want ?" I knew what she wanted well enough.

She had come for two dollars that I owed her.

I felt annoyed.

"Why ?" the reader asks.
"Obligations of this kind should always be met promptly and cheerfully." True; and I am of those who never grudge the humble poor the reward of their labor.