“Delia” ses she, “Ive had elivin girls in since _you_ left” ses she. “You poor lamb!” She puts on that weedling voyce she has whin bothering me to let her make mussy foodge in me frying pans: “Delia” ses she, “w-wudnt you like to cum back?” I shuk me hed. Then she set back, her horchure cuming back agin. “O well” ses she, “theres hundreds of uther girls.” “Yes” ses I “the same as the elivin yourve had.” “Delia” ses she wid pashion “for pity sake do come back. I did thry to do my best but its like attempting to pleese a family of porkypines since you left and O! those awful craychures that came after you left. Why wan of thim” ses she indignantly “was want to tak the soyled table linen—aven the lace doylies—for dish cloths.” “My God! miss” ses I “you don’t meen them buties you made yersilf?” “Yes indade,” ses she turning her face away. “Miss Claire” ses I. “Yes Delia” ses she quickly, turning round in a bounce. “Nothing” ses I, angry wid mesilf for me meekness. “_Delia_” ses she despritly, “we’ve tuk a place in the cuntry. We _must_ have a girl. Its dredful to think of being widout one. O Delia, _do please_ cum wid us.” “No-o—Miss—” ses I a bit tremendulussly. “I’ll—I’ll—give you that old—er—its not relly old—black taffita jacket of mine” ses she. I skuk me hed. “—and the skurt wid the box plates” ses she “and you can have that tucked shemysett—you no, the one you do up so luvly.” “No Miss Claire” ses I firmly, getting up. “I’m for uther wark than gineral housewark.” She got up also, and her voyce sounds a bit shakey. “Very well Delia” ses she. “Its hard on me——so much trubble——” Thin her blue eyes run over, and she walked away, wiping thim wid her handkychiff. I seen her go out the dure. I filt a sinking at me hart. Minnie Carnavan was forgotten, and like the gump she ses I am I made a grand dash fur the dure, wid all the Miss Flimflams of the Alluyunce, and the ladies thimsilves gaping after me in horrow. I seen Miss Claire half a block away, and I run after her puffing: “Miss Claire! Darlint! Miss Claire!” I called after her. She turned about and guve me wan look. Then she made a like grand dash as mesilf. Her parrysol flew out of her hand, also her rist bag. [Illustration: “‘Very well, Delia,’ ses she. ‘It’s hard on me ... so much trouble!’” ] “O Delia—you _duck_” ses she, and kissed me wid a smack, hugging and squazing me manewile. There cum three yung doods marching down the Avenoo, and as Miss Claire taks me in her arms the bauld yung chaps stud still and looked at us and shmiled. Thin one bint down and keerfully picked up the parrysol and wiped it wid the sleeve of his foine gray coat. As me and Miss Claire extrycate ourselves he offers it to her wid a bow. She toorned red as a peeney and her bloo eyes guv one luk up at the dood, then drapped demoorly: