“It is, indeed,” said Rosalie; “and that is just what disturbs me so. I can manage to keep our cabin tidy, and dress our little meals; but I cannot wash—indeed, I cannot. I attempted to do so, but, after having exhausted all my strength, and made myself almost ill, I failed. And when I know that every pioneer housekeeper needs to be competent to the performance of _all_ her domestic duties, I feel thoroughly ashamed of my helplessness in some respects. And when I see my husband so patient and cheerful under domestic annoyances that no day-labourer with an efficient helpmate ever has to suffer—oh! you know I must feel so cruelly disappointed in myself.” Mrs. Attridge made no comment, but looked upon her young neighbour with a considerate, fond, protective expression on her honest countenance. And after a few minutes, Rosalie spoke again— “Can you advise me what to do, Mrs. Attridge? for I have resolved that, in our present circumstances, my husband shall be put to no expense for these matters.” “Oh! pshaw! you can never do it; and some other plan must be thought of,” said the visitor, reflectively. “Yes, it is real incapacity on my part—a want of the requisite physical strength. I am not constitutionally weak; but the muscles of my arms and chest have never been trained to great or continued exertion, and strengthened by that process—more is the pity! Look at my wrists.” And Rosalie, smilingly, tearfully, held out two delicate, fair, tapering arms. And Mrs. Attridge took and held them affectionately, while she said— “I know—I know it would be useless and cruel to expect hard work of you; and yet the expense oughtn’t to come on _him_, neither, just now. I have been thinking, since I sat here, of an Irish family of the name of Malony, who live in a shanty about a quarter of a mile from this, on my road home. The man works at our furnace, and the woman washes for bachelors. Now, although they are thriving, she and her family are always ragged, because she is as ignorant as a savage of the use of a needle; and, besides, she says she hasn’t time to sew. Now,” said Mrs. Attridge, half laughingly, as she arose to depart, “suppose you were to barter work with Judy Malony, and pay her for washing by making up clothing for her children? At any rate, I will call and see Judy on my way home, and send her over to you.” Rosalie cordially thanked her kind friend, and held her hand, and felt unwilling to allow her to depart. “I shall send Billy over with more fresh milk this evening. And you must not mind his _grumbling_—he grumbles at me and Mr. Attridge all day long sometimes, and won’t allow us to touch a thing in the garden till he thinks proper, without a _deal_ of grumbling.” Mrs. Attridge, after promising Rosalie to walk over and see her often, and spend whole days whenever it was possible, took leave, and departed.