She was "a settled girl"-- owning to twenty-eight summers, and having weathered forty winters.

Her hair, streaked with gray, tumbled down as persistently as Patience Riderhood's, and was uncomfortably easy of identification in _ragout_ and muffins.

Her slippers were down at heel; her kitchen was never in order; her tins were black; her pots were greasy; her range was dull; her floors unclean.

Like all her compeers, she "found the place harder nor she had been give to onderstand, but was willin' to do her best, seein' she had come." Her best was sometimes sour bread, sometimes burned biscuits, generally weak, muddy coffee, always under-seasoned vegetables and over-seasoned soup.

By July 1, she developed a genius for quarreling with the other servants that got up a domestic hurricane, and I told her she must leave.