“Mrs. Parsons, ma’am--my lady?” the frightened little under-housemaid, who had been made to answer, said. Patty gave her a gracious smile, feeling that at last she had found some one who understood what her claims were. “What’s your name?” she said. “Ellen.” “Well, Ellen, I like your looks, and I’ve no doubt we shall get on; but you needn’t call me my lady, not now,--for the present I am only Mrs. Gervase. Now, go and send Parsons here.” “Oh, my lady, Mrs. Parsons! she’s in my old lady’s room. I daren’t disturb her, not for anything in the world; it would be as much as my place was worth.” “I see you are only a little fool after all,” said Patty, with a frown. “Your place is just worth this much--whether you please me or not. Mrs. Parsons has as much power as--as that table. Goodness,” cried Patty, “what a state this house has been in, to be sure, when one servant is afraid of another! but I shall soon put an end to that. Call Parsons! let her come at once.” The little housemaid came back while Patty still stood before the glass straightening the edge of her bonnet and arranging her veil. “If you please, my lady, Mrs. Parsons is doing out my old lady’s drawers--and she has her head bent down, and I can’t make her hear.” “I’ll make her hear,” cried Patty, with an impulse which belonged rather to her previous condition than to her present dignity; and she rushed along the corridor like a whirlwind, with her draperies flying. It was, doubtless, instinct or inspiration that directed her to the right door, while Gervase followed on her steps to see the fun, with a grin upon his face. He remembered only now and then, when something recalled it to him, that his mother was gone. He was not thinking of her now; nevertheless, when Patty burst into that room, he stood in the doorway dumb, the grin dying out from his face, and gave a scared look round as if looking for the familiar presence he had so often encountered there. “You perhaps have not heard, Mrs. Parsons,” said Patty, with her sharp, decisive voice, “that I sent for you?” Parsons had her head bent over the drawers. She said, without turning round, “That gaby, Ellen, said something about somebody wanting me”; and then began to count,--“Eight, nine, ten. Three dozen here and three dozen in the walnut wardrobe,” said Parsons; “that makes it just right.” Patty’s curiosity overcame her resentment. She came forward and looked over Parsons’ shoulder. “Six dozen silk stockings,” she cried; “is that what you are counting? What a number for an old lady! and fine, too, and in good condition,” she said, putting her hand over the woman’s shoulder and bringing forth a handful. They were mingled white and black, and Patty looked upon them with covetous eyes.