Three Lives | Page 2

seclude the
bad dogs from each other whenever she had to leave the house.
Sometimes just to see how good it was that she had made them, Anna
would leave the room a little while and leave them all together, and
then she would suddenly come back. Back would slink all the
wicked-minded dogs at the sound of her hand upon the knob, and then
they would sit desolate in their corners like a lot of disappointed
children whose stolen sugar has been taken from them.
Innocent blind old Baby was the only one who preserved the dignity
becoming in a dog.
You see that Anna led an arduous and troubled life.
The good Anna was a small, spare, german woman, at this time about
forty years of age. Her face was worn, her cheeks were thin, her mouth
drawn and firm, and her light blue eyes were very bright. Sometimes
they were full of lightning and sometimes full of humor, but they were
always sharp and clear.
Her voice was a pleasant one, when she told the histories of bad Peter
and of Baby and of little Rags. Her voice was a high and piercing one
when she called to the teamsters and to the other wicked men, what she
wanted that should come to them, when she saw them beat a horse or
kick a dog. She did not belong to any society that could stop them and
she told them so most frankly, but her strained voice and her glittering

eyes, and her queer piercing german english first made them afraid and
then ashamed. They all knew too, that all the policemen on the beat
were her friends. These always respected and obeyed Miss Annie, as
they called her, and promptly attended to all of her complaints.
For five years Anna managed the little house for Miss Mathilda. In
these five years there were four different under servants.
The one that came first was a pretty, cheerful irish girl. Anna took her
with a doubting mind. Lizzie was an obedient, happy servant, and Anna
began to have a little faith. This was not for long. The pretty, cheerful
Lizzie disappeared one day without her notice and with all her baggage
and returned no more.
This pretty, cheerful Lizzie was succeeded by a melancholy Molly.
Molly was born in America, of german parents. All her people had
been long dead or gone away. Molly had always been alone. She was a
tall, dark, sallow, thin-haired creature, and she was always troubled
with a cough, and she had a bad temper, and always said ugly dreadful
swear words.
Anna found all this very hard to bear, but she kept Molly a long time
out of kindness. The kitchen was constantly a battle-ground. Anna
scolded and Molly swore strange oaths, and then Miss Mathilda would
shut her door hard to show that she could hear it all.
At last Anna had to give it up. "Please Miss Mathilda won't you speak
to Molly," Anna said, "I can't do a thing with her. I scold her, and she
don't seem to hear and then she swears so that she scares me. She loves
you Miss Mathilda, and you scold her please once."
"But Anna," cried poor Miss Mathilda, "I don't want to," and that large,
cheerful, but faint hearted woman looked all aghast at such a prospect.
"But you must, please Miss Mathilda!" Anna said.
Miss Mathilda never wanted to do any scolding. "But you must please
Miss Mathilda," Anna said.

Miss Mathilda every day put off the scolding, hoping always that Anna
would learn to manage Molly better. It never did get better and at last
Miss Mathilda saw that the scolding simply had to be.
It was agreed between the good Anna and her Miss Mathilda that Anna
should be away when Molly would be scolded. The next evening that it
was Anna's evening out, Miss Mathilda faced her task and went down
into the kitchen.
Molly was sitting in the little kitchen leaning her elbows on the table.
She was a tall, thin, sallow girl, aged twenty-three, by nature slatternly
and careless but trained by Anna into superficial neatness. Her drab
striped cotton dress and gray black checked apron increased the length
and sadness of her melancholy figure. "Oh, Lord!" groaned Miss
Mathilda to herself as she approached her.
"Molly, I want to speak to you about your behaviour to Anna!", here
Molly dropped her head still lower on her arms and began to cry.
"Oh! Oh!" groaned Miss Mathilda.
"It's all Miss Annie's fault, all of it," Molly said at last, in a trembling
voice, "I do my best."
"I know Anna is often hard to please," began Miss Mathilda, with a
twinge of mischief, and then she sobered