She thought of all she had heard from experienced housekeepers,—how thankless a task it was to teach servants, for when they attain perfection, they lack the ambition to keep to the mark; they “run down,” as it were. For a moment Molly was appalled at the prospect of working so hard and faithfully with Marta, if it was to end thus; and then she remembered, if it should prove so in this case, it could not be possible that some girl would not be wise enough to see the advantage to herself of keeping up to a standard. “Even if I have to change several times, at last I certainly shall find one who repays me; then I shall have a year or two of peace and comfort.” But she did not make up her mind to the worst about Marta from this failure. It had been gradually becoming clear to her that Marta had some good qualities and many faults. Whether the qualities balanced the faults was something she had seriously to consider when she had had longer trial; and which would depend much on whether, once knowing a thing thoroughly, she could be trusted to do it. “Marta, nothing of this sort can happen without a cause; try to think what it can be.” Molly studiously refrained from showing her vexation, for she really wanted to find out whether Marta had erred through carelessness or ignorance; and the only way to get at the facts was, not to frighten her into deception by seeming angry. “I cannot think, unless the yeast was not good; I was very careful.” “Get me the rest of the cake of yeast.” When she brought it, Molly broke it. It broke off short, and smelt quite good; had it been stale it would have pulled like dough, or smelt bad. “No, the yeast is good, and in proof of it I must make something else with it. But I think you must have put it in too hot water.” As she spoke she had cut the loaf. “This looks just like bread made with scalded yeast, or that had risen too slowly from having too little yeast.” “No, ma’am, I am sure the water was not too hot.” “And it could not have been chilled when you set it to rise, I know. Ah, there’s one thing, Marta! perhaps you forgot to stir the yeast after you dropped it in the water, or did not do it sufficiently, and it remained at the bottom and never went into the bread at all.” This seemed the certain solution, if what Marta said about the water was true; but the girl shook her head. “No, I am sure I stirred it, and it all went into the flour.” Molly looked at her,—could she be telling the truth? If she had not known the bread had had long enough to rise, she would have thought it had been put into the oven directly the dough was in the pan, without being allowed to rise; but that she knew could not be, for she had seen it rising, and wondered why it should be so late. She wished now she had asked before it was baked; but Marta had been out of the way, and when she returned to the kitchen the matter had slipped from her mind. “I have told you to warm the flour. I suppose you didn’t make it very hot.”