Poor Patty! She regretted that she could not join in these pleasant meetings; but, alas! she was so useful, so agreeable, and so necessary to her infirm mistress, that she could never be spared from home. “Where’s Patty? why does not Patty do this?” were Mrs. Crumpe’s constant questions whenever she was absent. Patty had all the business of the house upon her hands, because nobody could do any thing so well as Patty. Mrs. Crumpe found that no one could dress her but Patty; nobody could make her bed, so that she could sleep on it, but Patty; no one could make jelly, or broth, or whey, that she could taste, but Patty; no one could roast, or boil, or bake, but Patty. Of course, all these things must be done by nobody else. The ironing of Mrs. Crumpe’s caps, which had exquisitely nice plaited borders, at last fell to Patty’s share; because once, when the laundry-maid was sick, she plaited one so charmingly, that her lady would never afterwards wear any but of her plaiting. Now Mrs. Crumpe changed her cap, or rather had her cap changed, three times a day; and never wore the same cap twice. The labours of washing, ironing, plaiting, roasting, boiling, baking, making jelly, broth, and whey, were not sufficient: Mrs. Crumpe took it into her head that she could eat no butter but of Patty’s churning. But, what was worse than all, not a night passed without Patty’s being called up to see “what could be the matter with the dog that was barking, or the cat that was mewing?” And when she was just sinking to sleep again, at daybreak, her lady, in whose room she slept, would call out, “Patty! Patty! There’s a dreadful noise in the chicken-yard.” “Oh, ma’am, it is only the cocks crowing.” “Well, do step out, and hinder them from crowing at this terrible rate.” “But, ma’am, I cannot hinder them indeed.” “Oh yes, you could, if you were up. Get up and whip ‘em, child. Whip ‘em all round, or I shall not sleep a wink more this night.” {Footnote: Taken from life.} How little poor Patty slept, her lady never considered: not that she was in reality an ill-natured woman, but sickness inclined her to be peevish; and she had so long been used to be humoured and waited upon by relations and servants, who expected she would leave them rich legacies, that she considered herself as a sort of golden idol, to whom all that approached should and would bow as low as she pleased. Perceiving that almost all around her were interested, she became completely selfish. She was from morning till night, from night till morning, nay, from year’s end to year’s end, so much in the habit of seeing others employed for her, that she absolutely considered this to be the natural and necessary course of things; and she quite forgot to think of the comfort, or even of the well-being, of those creatures who were “born for her use, and live but to oblige her.”