Miss Perceval turned angrily away, and summoned her maid to receive a multitude of new directions. "Mary, tell the Captain that when I looked out last, there was scarcely any smoke coming out of the funnel, so I am sure he is saving fuel, and not keeping good enough fires to carry us on! I never knew such shabbiness! Tell the engineer, that I insist on his throwing on more coals immediately. Bring me some hot water, as fast as possible! These towels are so coarse, I cannot, on any account, use them. After being accustomed to such pocket-handkerchiefs as mine, at ten guineas each, one does become particular. Can you not find a larger basin? This looks like a soup-plate, and it seems impossible here to get enough of hot water to wash comfortably." "She should be put into the boiler of the steam-boat," muttered Mrs. Crabtree. "I wish them animal-magnifying doctors would put the young lady to sleep till we arrive in London." "Now!" continued Miss Perceval, "get me another cup of tea. The last was too sweet, the one before not strong enough, and the first half cold, but this is worse than any. Do remember to mention, that yesterday night the steward sent up a tin tea-pot, a thing I cannot possibly suffer again. We must have the urn, too, instead of that black tea-kettle; and desire him to prepare some butter-toast--I am not hungry, so three rounds will be enough. Let me have some green tea this time; and see that the cream is better than last night, when I am certain it was thickened with chalk or snails. The jelly, too, was execrable, for it tasted like sticking-plaster--I shall starve if better can't be had; and the table-cloth looked like a pair of old sheets. Tell the steward all this, and say, he must get my breakfast ready on deck in half an hour; but meantime, I shall sit here with a book while you brush my hair." The sick persecuted maid seemed anxious to do all she was bid; so, after delivering as many of the messages as possible, she tried to stand up and do Miss Perceval's hair, but the motion of the vessel had greatly increased, and she turned as pale as death, apparently on the point of sinking to the ground, when Laura, now quite dressed, quietly slipped the brush out of her hand, and carefully brushed Miss Perceval's thin locks, while poor Mary silently dropped upon a seat, being perfectly faint with sickness. Miss Perceval read on, without observing the change of abigails, till Harry, who had watched this whole scene from the cabin-door, made a hissing noise, such as grooms do when they currycomb a horse, which caused the young lady to look hastily round, when great was Miss Perceval's astonishment to discover her new abigail, with a very pains-taking look, brushing her hair, while poor Mary lay more dead than alive on the benches. "Well! I declare! was there ever anything so odd!" she exclaimed in a voice of amazement. "How very strange! What can be the matter with Mary! There is no end to the plague of servants!"