Miss MacGrotty threw back her head with a defiant toss. "Sure, an' I'll not be lavin' the house till I've had me rights! There's things been missed, an' I'll not have it said that Mary MacGrotty wud touch the lave of a pin!" Then of a sudden she melted into copious tears. "I've be'n that happy an' continted sinse I come to live wid you, Mis' Belknap; sure, I can't bear the thoughts of lavin' you an' Master Buster, wid the shwate little face on him. If it wasn't fer _hur_ I'd never be thinkin' of goin'; but my feelin's has be'n hur-r-t an' trampled on till I can't bear it no more. Tell me _wan thing_, Mis' Belknap, wasn't we all goin' on peaceful an' happy loike before _she_ come, wid Mis' Whittaker to wash an' sweep, an' me in the kitchen?" Mrs. Belknap temporized weakly. "Do you mean to tell me that if I will discharge Jane, you will stay?" she said at last. "I do, mum; an' may I cross my feet this day if I stay in the same house wid hur another week. She ain't my sort, mum!" Still Mrs. Belknap hesitated. Jane was proving herself a most intelligent caretaker for the idolized Buster. Indeed his mother was forced to acknowledge that that young person's conduct showed a not inconspicuous improvement since he had been under the firm but gentle rule of English Jane. On the other hand, Mary's bread and rolls were faultless, her pastry and salads beyond criticism, and her laundry work exhibited a snowy whiteness and smoothness most gratifying to the eye and touch of a dainty woman like Mrs. Belknap; singularly enough, not a single MacGrotty relative had sickened or died since the advent of Jane. This last reflection colored her next remark. "You have been much more reliable lately, Mary," she observed thoughtfully, "and we all like your cooking." "_Reliable!_" echoed Miss MacGrotty warmly, "reliable? Ain't I always reliable? Why, mum, in the last place where I wuz workin' four years to the day, an' where I'd be yet on'y the leddy died--a shwate, purty leddy she wuz, too. Often's the toime I've said to meself, 'Mis' Belknap's the livin' image of hur,' I says, an' that's why I can't bear to be leavin' yez, mum. But, as I wuz sayin', Mis' Peterson she wud be sayin': 'Oh, Mary MacGrotty!' she says, 'I don't know what I'd be doin' widout _you_,' she says. 'You're _that reliable_,' she says. Of course, I've had turrible luck wid me family bein' tuk bad since I lived wid you. But, the saints be praised! they're all well an' hearty now, exceptin' me brother's youngest gurl that's bad wid her fut from bein' run over by a milk wagon. Yis, mum, a turrible accident, it wuz, mum. _Hev ye looked in hur things?_" "Have _I what_?" faltered Mrs. Belknap. "Looked in that gurl's trunk, mum," repeated Miss MacGrotty in a ghostly whisper. "If you ain't, you'd better; that's all." "Oh, I shouldn't like to do that. Dear, _dear_! what ought I to do, anyway?"