Work: A Story of Experience | Page 7

incarnation of all human vanities and
shortcomings.
"A desirable place in a small, genteel family," was at last offered her,
and she posted away to secure it, having reached a state of desperation
and resolved to go as a first-class cook rather than sit with her hands
before her any longer.
A well-appointed house, good wages, and light duties seemed things to
be grateful for, and Christie decided that going out to service was not
the hardest fate in life, as she stood at the door of a handsome house in

a sunny square waiting to be inspected.
Mrs. Stuart, having just returned from Italy, affected the artistic, and
the new applicant found her with a Roman scarf about her head, a
rosary like a string of small cannon balls at her side, and azure
draperies which became her as well as they did the sea-green furniture
of her marine boudoir, where unwary walkers tripped over coral and
shells, grew sea-sick looking at pictures of tempestuous billows
engulfing every sort of craft, from a man-of-war to a hencoop with a
ghostly young lady clinging to it with one hand, and had their appetites
effectually taken away by a choice collection of water-bugs and snakes
in a glass globe, that looked like a jar of mixed pickles in a state of
agitation.
MRS. STUART.
Madame was intent on a water-color copy of Turner's "Rain, Wind, and
Hail," that pleasing work which was sold upsidedown and no one found
it out. Motioning Christie to a seat she finished some delicate sloppy
process before speaking. In that little pause Christie examined her, and
the impression then received was afterward confirmed.
Mrs. Stuart possessed some beauty and chose to think herself a queen
of society. She assumed majestic manners in public and could not
entirely divest herself of them in private, which often produced comic
effects. Zenobia troubled about fish-sauce, or Aspasia indignant at the
price of eggs will give some idea of this lady when she condescended
to the cares of housekeeping.
Presently she looked up and inspected the girl as if a new servant were
no more than a new bonnet, a necessary article to be ordered home for
examination. Christie presented her recommendation, made her modest
little speech, and awaited her doom.
Mrs. Stuart read, listened, and then demanded with queenly brevity:
"Your name?"
"Christie Devon."
"Too long; I should prefer to call you Jane as I am accustomed to the
name."
"As you please, ma'am."
"Your age?"
"Twenty-one."
"You are an American?"

"Yes, ma'am."
Mrs. Stuart gazed into space a moment, then delivered the following
address with impressive solemnity:
"I wish a capable, intelligent, honest, neat, well-conducted person who
knows her place and keeps it. The work is light, as there are but two in
the family. I am very particular and so is Mr. Stuart. I pay two dollars
and a half, allow one afternoon out, one service on Sunday, and no
followers. My table-girl must understand her duties thoroughly, be
extremely neat, and always wear white aprons."
"I think I can suit you, ma'am, when I have learned the ways of the
house," meekly replied Christie.
Mrs. Stuart looked graciously satisfied and returned the paper with a
gesture that Victoria might have used in restoring a granted petition,
though her next words rather marred the effect of the regal act, "My
cook is black."
"I have no objection to color, ma'am."
An expression of relief dawned upon Mrs. Stuart's countenance, for the
black cook had been an insurmountable obstacle to all the Irish ladies
who had applied. Thoughtfully tapping her Roman nose with the
handle of her brush Madame took another survey of the new applicant,
and seeing that she looked neat, intelligent, and respectful, gave a sigh
of thankfulness and engaged her on the spot.
Much elated Christie rushed home, selected a bag of necessary articles,
bundled the rest of her possessions into an empty closet (lent her
rent-free owing to a profusion of cockroaches), paid up her board, and
at two o'clock introduced herself to Hepsey Johnson, her fellow
servant.
Hepsey was a tall, gaunt woman, bearing the tragedy of her race written
in her face, with its melancholy eyes, subdued expression, and the
pathetic patience of a wronged dumb animal. She received Christie
with an air of resignation, and speedily bewildered her with an account
of the duties she would be expected to perform.
A long and careful drill enabled Christie to set the table with but few
mistakes, and to retain a tolerably clear recollection of the order of
performances. She had just assumed her badge of servitude, as she
called the white apron, when the bell rang violently and Hepsey, who
was hurrying away to "dish up," said:

"It's de marster. You has to answer de