“Maria, I can’t get Maus Edwin to answer me a word, excepting that you are to hang the chickens.” “Hang em!” cried the cook, indignantly. “Did ever any one hear of such a thing! I’m going to my misses and ax _her_.” “Miss an’t here, she’s out walkin’ with Miss Isabel, and she’s done give up the housekeepin’ to Maus Edwin. Cos why? Cos he pokes his nose every where, and hit an’t his bizness.” “Here’s Martin from market! My stars! Set down the basket, boy, and let me see. Kidneys! Now how is I to know how to cook these without being informed? I’m gwine to Maus Edwin myself!” And off she marched without any kind of ceremony into Edwin’s room. An old servant, she was not _quite_ so particular about noise as the younger ones, so she screamed out at the door. “Maus Edwin! oh, Maus Edwin! How you want the kidneys done? Broiled, or stewed in wine? It’s late, and I want to know.” “Go to the d——l with your kidneys!” cried Mr. Bettyman, now fairly awake. “If you come to me with any more questions, I’ll throw the boot-jack at your head!” Maria scampered down stairs, and reached the kitchen in a second. The breakfast that day was cooked and served without direction from master or mistress; and when we sat down to table every thing looked so creditable to cook and house-boy, that Mr. Bettyman, now refreshed by his last nap, quite forgot his late instalment, and did the honors with his usual hospitality. But no sooner had he risen from his chair, after finishing his meal, than Maria appeared with a perfect pyramid of pans, and stood grinning before him. “Maus Edwin! gwine give out dinner, and all that? Miss Josy always do it just after breakfast—and I guess you want to be off to town soon.” “By Jupiter! what is all this jargon for? What have I to do with you and your pans, unless I throw them at your head? Have my buggy around instantly!” cried Mr. Bettyman, now fairly out of patience; and as he remembered his wife’s resignation of keys, etc. the evening previous, came back into the Hall and stood before her. Josy was busy with her little mop and cup-pan about to wash her own china and silver. “Josy,” said he, somewhat humbly, for he _could_ not blame her, “you surely do not intend to carry out this farce any longer, do you? This is making me too ridiculous!” “And what have you been doing, then, my dearest husband?” replied she, cheerfully. “I cannot content you—you will take my place and find fault with either ‘too much’ or ‘not enough,’ and I begin to feel housekeeping _two_ ways a little fatiguing. Not only must I arrange matters to please myself, but on your return I must begin anew to satisfy your _exigéance_.” “Well, well, Josy,” said Edwin, “say that you are not serious, in giving me so absurd an office, and I will promise not to interfere again. Will that do?”