It was impossible to laugh, for the quiet dignity of her manner forbade it. Martin bowed—Lucy curtsied and ran off. Edwin remained as if spell-bound. He had never once dreamed of Josy’s rebelling, and had looked upon himself as a model husband from the daily assistance he afforded her. Moreover, he began to perceive his absurd position, and reddening to the temples, arose from his chair. “You are surely not in earnest, Josephine, in offering me these keys. I am not the proper person to carry them; certainly, I have endeavored to assist, and enable you, knowing your inexperience, to become more careful with your property and mine; but I do not wish to usurp your place at all.” “You have done so until now, my dear Edwin,” was her mild but firm reply. “When you become convinced of my ability to be my _own_ housekeeper, I may then offer to take back the place; but my mind is made up, I do assure you,” and she placed the basket of keys once more in his hands. He dared not accuse her of spite, she had borne it so long; but he was too much humiliated and vexed to conceal it. Courtesy prevented his refusing to take his seat at the table, or I verily believe he would have left us in high dudgeon. Isabel and I talked as fast as we could, and Josy took her part as gayly as either of us. And after a while so did he, supposing in his inmost mind, that his wife would revoke her decision on the morrow. But the morrow came, and Martin, as firm as his mistress, went to know what Master Edwin wanted from market. It was of course very early, and to say the truth very unusual, as Josy was in the habit of giving her orders at night. “D—n it,” said Mr. Bettyman, half asleep, “what do you come to me for?” “My mistress told me to do so, sir,” was the respectful reply, though poor Martin had to struggle with a laugh, as he again applied himself to rouse his master. “Would you prefer a breast of veal to-day, sir? I think that you were not pleased with the leg of mutton this day week.” “Confound the leg of mutton!” muttered the master, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “Martin, am I dreaming, or you?” “You are, sir, I think,” replied Martin, smiling now in good earnest. “My Mistress sent me to you to know what was to be got in market today. We always have mutton on Wednesdays, sir, but you didn’t like—” “Pshaw! get what you please! Give me my vest there—take the money, and let me be quiet;” and Mr. Bettyman fell back on his pillow, and closed his eyes once more in sleep. A few moments after he was again roused. “Master Edwin will you have toast this morning—milk toast? And shall Maria broil the chickens, or stew them, sir?” “What do I know about chickens? Are you all crazy, that you come one after another to disturb my rest to-day? I have just gotten rid of Martin, and now you must come and rouse me from my morning sleep. Why don’t you go to your mistress? Hang the chickens!” Lucy ran out as Mr. Bettyman turned over grumbling to resume his nap.