Of course, I couldn't refuse, though I believe I granted the request with no very smiling grace. I heard no more of Nancy until toward dinner-time. I had given my cook orders not to lend her anything more without first coming to me. "Mrs. Jordon has sent in to know if you won't lend her two or three scuttles full of coal," said Bridget. "Mr. Jordon was to have sent home the fires are going down." "Certainly," I replied, "let her have it, but I want you to see that it is returned." "As to that, ma'am, I'll do my best; but I can't get Nancy to return one half what she borrows. She forgets from one day to another." "She mustn't forget," I returned, warmly. "You must go to Mrs. Jordon yourself. It isn't right." "I shall have to go, I guess, before I'm able to get back a dozen kitchen things of ours they have. I never saw such borrowing people. And then, never to think of returning what they get. They have got one of our pokers, the big sauce-pan and the cake-board. Our muffin rings they've had these three months. Every Monday they get two of our tubs and the wash-boiler. Yesterday they sent in and got our large meat-dish belonging to the dinner-set, and haven't sent it home yet. Indeed, I can't tell you all they've got." "Let Nancy have the coal," said I. "But we must stop this in some way, if it be possible." For three or four days the same thing was kept up, until I lost all patience, and resolved, offence or no offence, to end a system that was both annoying and unjust. Mrs. Jordon called in to see me one day, and sat conversing in a very pleasant strain for an hour. She was an agreeable companion, and I was pleased with the visit. In fact, I liked Mrs. Jordon. About an hour after she was gone, Nancy came into the kitchen, where I happened to be. "What's wanted now?" said I. My voice expressed quite as much as my words. I saw the color flush in Nancy's face. "Mrs. Jordon says, will you please to lend her a pan of flour? She will return it to-morrow." "Tell Mrs. Jordon," I replied, "that we are going to make up bread this afternoon, and haven't more than enough flour left, or I would let her have what she wants. And, by the way, Nancy, tell Mrs. Jordon that I will be obliged to her if she will send in my large earthen dish. We want to use it." Nancy didn't seem pleased. And I thought she muttered something to herself as she went away. Not five minutes elapsed before word came to my room that Mrs. Jordon was in the parlor and wished to speak to me. "Now for trouble," thought I. Sure enough, when I entered the parlor, the knit brow, flushed face, and angry eyes of my neighbor told me that there was to be a scene. "Mrs. Smith," she began, without ceremony or apology for her abruptness of manner, "I should like to know what you mean by the manner in which you refused to let me have a little flour just now?" "How did I refuse?" I was cool enough to inquire.