"Well, take this key, go to my boudoir, in the fifth drawer of my _papier mache_ black bureau, you will find a case of handkerchiefs." "Yes'm." "Take out three, yes, four, close the case, lock the drawer, close the boudoir door, and bring down the handkerchiefs upon my rosewood tray. Do you comprehend, Olivia?" "Yes'm," said the girl. "But come here; let me see your hands. O, horror! such gloves! touch my handkerchiefs or bureau drawers with those horrid gloves! Poison me!" cries the terrified woman. "Olivia," she again ejaculates, after a moment's pause, from overtasked nature! "Yes'm," the blushing, tickled _blonde_ replies. "Go call Vanilla, you are quite soiled now. I want a fresh servant, retire." "Ah, Vanilla, girl, have you got your gloves on?" "Yes'm," the yellow girl modestly answers. "Then do go and bring me six handkerchiefs from my boudoir, in the fifth drawer of my black _papier mache_ bureau. Let me see your gloves, dear. "Ah, Vanilla, you are to be depended upon; your gloves are clean--now run along, dear, for I'm suffering for a fresh, new, and untouched handkerchief. "Ah, that's well. Now, Vanilla, go to Mrs. Brown's, my laundress--say that I wish her to come here, immediately." "Yes'm," says the bright quadroon, and away she spins for the domicil of democratic Mrs. Brown, the laundress. "Now what's up, I'd like to know?" quoth the old woman. "Dunno, missus wants to see you--guess you better come," says Vanilla. "Deuce take sich fussy people," says Mrs. Brown; "I wouldn't railly put up with all her dern'd nonsense, ef she wa'n't so poorly, so weak in her mind and body, and so good about paying for her work. No, I declare I wouldn't," said the strong-minded woman. "Bring the creature up," said Mrs. Pompaliner, as one of her fresh attendants announced the washerwoman. "Ah, you are here?" "Yes," said the fat, hardy, and independent, if awkward, Mrs. Brown, as she stood in the august presence of Mrs. Pompaliner, and the gorgeous trappings of her own private drawing-room. "Yes, I believe I am, ma'am!" says the she-democrat. "Vanilla, tell Olivia to bring Jessamine here." "Yes'm." "Now Mrs. a--what is your name?" "Brown, Dorcas Brown; my husband and I--" "Never mind, that's sufficient, Mrs. a--Brown," said the reclining Mrs. Pompaliner. "I wish to know if anybody is permitted to touch or handle any of my wardrobe, my linen, handkerchiefs, hose, gloves, laces, etc., in your house?" "Tetch 'em!" echoes the rotund laundress; "why of course we've got to tetch 'em, or how'd we get 'em ironed and put in your baskets, ma'am?" "Do you pretend to say, Mrs. a--Brown--O dear! dear! I am afraid you have ruined all my clothes!" "Ruined 'em?" quoth Mrs. Brown, coloring up, like a fresh and lively lobster immersed in a pot of highly caloric water. "I want to know if the things ain't been done this week as well as I ever did 'em, could do 'em, or anybody could do 'em on this mighty yeath (earth), ma'am!"