A FORTNIGHT later, and Christie was off. Mrs. Flint had brieflyanswered that she had a room, and that work was always to be foundin the city. So the girl packed her one trunk, folding away splendidhopes among her plain gowns, and filling every corner with happyfancies, utterly impossible plans, and tender little dreams, solovely at the time, so pathetic to remember, when contact with thehard realities of life has collapsed our bright bubbles, and thefrost of disappointment nipped all our morning glories in theirprime. The old red stage stopped at Enos Devon's door, and his niececrossed the threshold after a cool handshake with the master of thehouse, and a close embrace with the mistress, who stood pouring outlast words with spectacles too dim for seeing. Fat Ben swung up thetrunk, slammed the door, mounted his perch, and the ancient vehicleswayed with premonitory symptoms of departure.

Then something smote Christie's heart. "Stop!" she cried, andspringing out ran back into the dismal room where the old man sat.Straight up to him she went with outstretched hand, saying steadily,though her face was full of feeling:

"Uncle, I'm not satisfied with that good-bye. I don't mean to besentimental, but I do want to say, 'Forgive me!' I see now that Imight have made you sorry to part with me, if I had tried to makeyou love me more. It's too late now, but I'm not too proud toconfess when I'm wrong. I want to part kindly; I ask your pardon; Ithank you for all you've done for me, and I say good-byeaffectionately now."

Mr. Devon had a heart somewhere, though it seldom troubled him; butit did make itself felt when the girl looked at him with his deadsister's eyes, and spoke in a tone whose unaccustomed tenderness wasa reproach.

Conscience had pricked him more than once that week, and he was gladto own it now; his rough sense of honor was touched by her frankexpression, and, as he answered, his hand was offered readily.

"I like that, Kitty, and think the better of you for't. Let bygonesbe bygones. I gen'lly got as good as I give, and I guess I deservedsome on't. I wish you wal, my girl, I heartily wish you wal, andhope you won't forgit that the old house ain't never shet aginstyou."

Christie astonished him with a cordial kiss; then bestowing anotherwarm hug on Aunt Niobe, as she called the old lady in a tearfuljoke, she ran into the carriage, taking with her all the sunshine ofthe place.

Christie found Mrs. Flint a dreary woman, with "boarders" writtenall over her sour face and faded figure. Butcher's bills and houserent seemed to fill her eyes with sleepless anxiety; thriftlesscooks and saucy housemaids to sharpen the tones of her shrill voice;and an incapable husband to burden her shoulders like a modern "Oldman of the sea."

A little room far up in the tall house was at the girl's disposalfor a reasonable sum, and she took possession, feeling very richwith the hundred dollars Uncle Enos gave her, and delightfullyindependent, with no milk-pans to scald; no heavy lover to elude; nohumdrum district school to imprison her day after day.

For a week she enjoyed her liberty heartily, then set about findingsomething to do. Her wish was to be a governess, that being theusual refuge for respectable girls who have a living to get. ButChristie soon found her want of accomplishments a barrier to successin that line, for the mammas thought less of the solid than of theornamental branches, and wished their little darlings to learnFrench before English, music before grammar, and drawing beforewriting.

So, after several disappointments, Christie decided that hereducation was too old-fashioned for the city, and gave up the ideaof teaching. Sewing she resolved not to try till every thing elsefailed; and, after a few more attempts to get writing to do, shesaid to herself, in a fit of humility and good sense: "I'll begin atthe beginning, and work my way up. I'll put my pride in my pocket,and go out to service. Housework I like, and can do well, thanks toAunt Betsey. I never thought it degradation to do it for her, so whyshould I mind doing it for others if they pay for it? It isn't whatI want, but it's better than idleness, so I'll try it!"

Full of this wise resolution, she took to haunting that purgatory ofthe poor, an intelligence office. Mrs. Flint gave her arecommendation, and she hopefully took her place among the ranks ofbuxom German, incapable Irish, and "smart" American women; for inthose days foreign help had not driven farmers' daughters out of thefield, and made domestic comfort a lost art.

At first Christie enjoyed the novelty of the thing, and watched withinterest the anxious housewives who flocked in demanding that raraavis, an angel at nine shillings a week; and not finding it,bewailed the degeneracy of the times. Being too honest to professherself absolutely perfect in every known branch of house-work, itwas some time before she suited herself. Meanwhile, she wasquestioned and lectured, half engaged and kept waiting, dismissedfor a whim, and so worried that she began to regard herself as theincarnation of all human vanities and shortcomings.

"A desirable place in a small, genteel family," was at last offeredher, and she posted away to secure it, having reached a state ofdesperation and resolved to go as a first-class cook rather than sitwith her hands before her any longer.

A well-appointed house, good wages, and light duties seemed thingsto be grateful for, and Christie decided that going out to servicewas not the hardest fate in life, as she stood at the door of ahandsome house in a sunny square waiting to be inspected.

Mrs. Stuart, having just returned from Italy, affected the artistic,and the new applicant found her with a Roman scarf about her head, arosary like a string of small cannon balls at her side, and azuredraperies which became her as well as they did the sea-greenfurniture of her marine boudoir, where unwary walkers tripped overcoral and shells, grew sea-sick looking at pictures of tempestuousbillows engulfing every sort of craft, from a man-of-war to ahencoop with a ghostly young lady clinging to it with one hand, andhad their appetites effectually taken away by a choice collection ofwater-bugs and snakes in a glass globe, that looked like a jar ofmixed pickles in a state of agitation.

MRS. STUART.

Madame was intent on a water-color copy of Turner's "Rain, Wind, andHail," that pleasing work which was sold upsidedown and no one foundit out. Motioning Christie to a seat she finished some delicatesloppy process before speaking. In that little pause Christieexamined her, and the impression then received was afterwardconfirmed.

Mrs. Stuart possessed some beauty and chose to think herself a queenof society. She assumed majestic manners in public and could notentirely divest herself of them in private, which often producedcomic effects. Zenobia troubled about fish-sauce, or Aspasiaindignant at the price of eggs will give some idea of this lady whenshe condescended to the cares of housekeeping.

Presently she looked up and inspected the girl as if a new servantwere no more than a new bonnet, a necessary article to be orderedhome for examination. Christie presented her recommendation, madeher modest little speech, and awaited her doom.

Mrs. Stuart read, listened, and then demanded with queenly brevity:

"Your name?"

"Christie Devon."

"Too long; I should prefer to call you Jane as I am accustomed tothe name."

"As you please, ma'am."

"Your age?"

"Twenty-one."

"You are an American?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Stuart gazed into space a moment, then delivered the followingaddress with impressive solemnity:

"I wish a capable, intelligent, honest, neat, well-conducted personwho knows her place and keeps it. The work is light, as there arebut two in the family. I am very particular and so is Mr. Stuart. Ipay two dollars and a half, allow one afternoon out, one service onSunday, and no followers. My table-girl must understand her dutiesthoroughly, be extremely neat, and always wear white aprons."

"I think I can suit you, ma'am, when I have learned the ways of thehouse," meekly replied Christie.

Mrs. Stuart looked graciously satisfied and returned the paper witha gesture that Victoria might have used in restoring a grantedpetition, though her next words rather marred the effect of theregal act, "My cook is black."

"I have no objection to color, ma'am."

An expression of relief dawned upon Mrs. Stuart's countenance, forthe black cook had been an insurmountable obstacle to all the Irishladies who had applied. Thoughtfully tapping her Roman nose with thehandle of her brush Madame took another survey of the new applicant,and seeing that she looked neat, intelligent, and respectful, gave asigh of thankfulness and engaged her on the spot.

Much elated Christie rushed home, selected a bag of necessaryarticles, bundled the rest of her possessions into an empty closet(lent her rent-free owing to a profusion of cockroaches), paid upher board, and at two o'clock introduced herself to Hepsey Johnson,her fellow servant.

Hepsey was a tall, gaunt woman, bearing the tragedy of her racewritten in her face, with its melancholy eyes, subdued expression,and the pathetic patience of a wronged dumb animal. She receivedChristie with an air of resignation, and speedily bewildered herwith an account of the duties she would be expected to perform.

A long and careful drill enabled Christie to set the table with butfew mistakes, and to retain a tolerably clear recollection of theorder of performances. She had just assumed her badge of servitude,as she called the white apron, when the bell rang violently andHepsey, who was hurrying away to "dish up," said:

"It's de marster. You has to answer de bell, honey, and he likes itdone bery spry."

Christie ran and admitted an impetuous, stout gentleman, whoappeared to be incensed against the elements, for he burst in as ifblown, shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and said all in onebreath:

"You're the new girl, are you? Well, take my umbrella and pull offmy rubbers."

"Sir?"

Mr. Stuart was struggling with his gloves, and, quite unconscious ofthe astonishment of his new maid, impatiently repeated his request.

"Take this wet thing away, and pull off my overshoes. Don't you seeit's raining like the very deuce!"

Christie folded her lips together in a peculiar manner as she kneltdown and removed a pair of muddy overshoes, took the drippingumbrella, and was walking away with her agreeable burden when Mr.Stuart gave her another shock by calling over the banister:

"I'm going out again; so clean those rubbers, and see that the bootsI sent down this morning are in order."

"Yes, sir," answered Christie meekly, and immediately afterwardstartled Hepsey by casting overshoes and umbrella upon the kitchenfloor, and indignantly demanding:

"Am I expected to be a boot-jack to that man?"

"I 'spects you is, honey."

"Am I also expected to clean his boots?"

"Yes, chile. Katy did, and de work ain't hard when you gits used toit."

"It isn't the work; it's the degradation; and I won't submit to it."

Christie looked fiercely determined; but Hepsey shook her head,saying quietly as she went on garnishing a dish:

"Dere's more 'gradin' works dan dat, chile, and dem dat's bin'bliged to do um finds dis sort bery easy. You's paid for it, honey;and if you does it willin, it won't hurt you more dan washin' demarster's dishes, or sweepin' his rooms."

"There ought to be a boy to do this sort of thing. Do you think it'sright to ask it of me?" cried Christie, feeling that being servantwas not as pleasant a task as she had thought it.

"Dunno, chile. I'se shore I'd never ask it of any woman if I was aman, 'less I was sick or ole. But folks don't seem to 'member datwe've got feelin's, and de best way is not to mind dese ere littletrubbles. You jes leave de boots to me; blackin' can't do dese olehands no hurt, and dis ain't no deggydation to me now; I's a freewoman."

"Why, Hepsey, were you ever a slave?" asked the girl, forgetting herown small injury at this suggestion of the greatest of all wrongs.

"All my life, till I run away five year ago. My ole folks, and eightbrudders and sisters, is down dere in de pit now; waitin' for theLord to set 'em free. And He's gwine to do it soon, soon!" As sheuttered the last words, a sudden light chased the tragic shadow fromHepsey's face, and the solemn fervor of her voice thrilledChristie's heart. All her anger died out in a great pity, and sheput her hand on the woman's shoulder, saying earnestly:

"I hope so; and I wish I could help to bring that happy day atonce!"

For the first time Hepsey smiled, as she said gratefully, "De Lordbress you for dat wish, chile." Then, dropping suddenly into herold, quiet way, she added, turning to her work:

"Now you tote up de dinner, and I'll be handy by to 'fresh your mind'bout how de dishes goes, for missis is bery 'ticular, and don'tlike no 'stakes in tendin'."

Thanks to her own neat-handed ways and Hepsey's prompting throughthe slide, Christie got on very well; managed her salverdexterously, only upset one glass, clashed one dish-cover, andforgot to sugar the pie before putting it on the table; an omissionwhich was majestically pointed out, and graciously pardoned as afirst offence.

By seven o'clock the ceremonial was fairly over, and Christiedropped into a chair quite tired out with frequent pacings to andfro. In the kitchen she found the table spread for one, and Hepseybusy with the boots.

"Aren't you coming to your dinner, Mrs. Johnson?" she asked, notpleased at the arrangement.

"When you's done, honey; dere's no hurry 'bout me. Katy liked datway best, and I'se used ter waitin'."

"But I don't like that way, and I won't have it. I suppose Katythought her white skin gave her a right to be disrespectful to awoman old enough to be her mother just because she was black. Idon't; and while I'm here, there must be no difference made. If wecan work together, we can eat together; and because you have been aslave is all the more reason I should be good to you now."

If Hepsey had been surprised by the new girl's protest against beingmade a boot-jack of, she was still more surprised at this suddenkindness, for she had set Christie down in her own mind as "one obdem toppin' smart ones dat don't stay long nowheres." She changedher opinion now, and sat watching the girl with a new expression onher face, as Christie took boot and brush from her, and fell to workenergetically, saying as she scrubbed:

"I'm ashamed of complaining about such a little thing as this, anddon't mean to feel degraded by it, though I should by letting you doit for me. I never lived out before: that's the reason I made afuss. There's a polish, for you, and I'm in a good humor again; soMr. Stuart may call for his boots whenever he likes, and we'll go todinner like fashionable people, as we are."

There was something so irresistible in the girl's hearty manner,that Hepsey submitted at once with a visible satisfaction, whichgave a relish to Christie's dinner, though it was eaten at a kitchentable, with a bare-armed cook sitting opposite, and three rows ofburnished dish-covers reflecting the dreadful spectacle.

After this, Christie got on excellently, for she did her best, andfound both pleasure and profit in her new employment. It gave herreal satisfaction to keep the handsome rooms in order, to polishplate, and spread bountiful meals. There was an atmosphere of easeand comfort about her which contrasted agreeably with the shabbinessof Mrs. Flint's boarding-house, and the bare simplicity of the oldhome. Like most young people, Christie loved luxury, and wassensible enough to see and value the comforts of her situation, andto wonder why more girls placed as she was did not choose a lifelike this rather than the confinements of a sewing-room, or thefatigue and publicity of a shop.

She did not learn to love her mistress, because Mrs. Stuartevidently considered herself as one belonging to a superior race ofbeings, and had no desire to establish any of the friendly relationsthat may become so helpful and pleasant to both mistress and maid.She made a royal progress through her dominions every morning,issued orders, found fault liberally, bestowed praise sparingly, andtook no more personal interest in her servants than if they wereclocks, to be wound up once a day, and sent away the moment they gotout of repair.

Mr. Stuart was absent from morning till night, and all Christie everknew about him was that he was a kind-hearted, hot-tempered, andvery conceited man; fond of his wife, proud of the society theymanaged to draw about them, and bent on making his way in the worldat any cost.

If masters and mistresses knew how skilfully they are studied,criticised, and imitated by their servants, they would take moreheed to their ways, and set better examples, perhaps. Mrs. Stuartnever dreamed that her quiet, respectful Jane kept a sharp eye onall her movements, smiled covertly at her affectations, envied heraccomplishments, and practised certain little elegancies that struckher fancy.

Mr. Stuart would have become apoplectic with indignation if he hadknown that this too intelligent table-girl often contrasted hermaster with his guests, and dared to think him wanting in goodbreeding when he boasted of his money, flattered a great man, orlaid plans to lure some lion into his house. When he lost histemper, she always wanted to laugh, he bounced and bumbled about solike an angry blue-bottle fly; and when he got himself upelaborately for a party, this disrespectful hussy confided to Hepseyher opinion that "master was a fat dandy, with nothing to be vain ofbut his clothes," - a sacrilegious remark which would have caused herto be summarily ejected from the house if it had reached the augustears of master or mistress.

"My father was a gentleman; and I shall never forget it, though I dogo out to service. I've got no rich friends to help me up, but,sooner or later, I mean to find a place among cultivated people; andwhile I'm working and waiting, I can be fitting myself to fill thatplace like a gentlewoman, as I am."

With this ambition in her mind, Christie took notes of all that wenton in the polite world, of which she got frequent glimpses while"living out." Mrs. Stuart received one evening of each week, and onthese occasions Christie, with an extra frill on her white apron,served the company, and enjoyed herself more than they did, if thetruth had been known.

While helping the ladies with their wraps, she observed what theywore, how they carried themselves, and what a vast amount ofprinking they did, not to mention the flood of gossip they talkedwhile shaking out their flounces and settling their topknots.

Later in the evening, when she passed cups and glasses, thisdemure-looking damsel heard much fine discourse, saw many famousbeings, and improved her mind with surreptitious studies of the richand great when on parade. But her best time was after supper, when,through the crack of the door of the little room where she wassupposed to be clearing away the relics of the feast, she looked andlistened at her ease; laughed at the wits, stared at the lions,heard the music, was impressed by the wisdom, and much edified bythe gentility of the whole affair.

After a time, however, Christie got rather tired of it, for therewas an elegant sameness about these evenings that became intenselywearisome to the uninitiated, but she fancied that as each had hispart to play he managed to do it with spirit. Night after night thewag told his stories, the poet read his poems, the singers warbled,the pretty women simpered and dressed, the heavy scientific was dulydiscussed by the elect precious, and Mrs. Stuart, in amazingcostumes, sailed to and fro in her most swan-like manner; while mylord stirred up the lions he had captured, till they roared theirbest, great and small.

"Good heavens! why don't they do or say something new andinteresting, and not keep twaddling on about art, and music, andpoetry, and cosmos? The papers are full of appeals for help for thepoor, reforms of all sorts, and splendid work that others are doing;but these people seem to think it isn't genteel enough to be spokenof here. I suppose it is all very elegant to go on like a set oftrained canaries, but it's very dull fun to watch them, and Hepsey'sstories are a deal more interesting to me."

Having come to this conclusion, after studying dilettanteism throughthe crack of the door for some months, Christie left the "trainedcanaries" to twitter and hop about their gilded cage, and devotedherself to Hepsey, who gave her glimpses into another sort of lifeso bitterly real that she never could forget it.

HEPSEY.

Friendship had prospered in the lower regions, for Hepsey had amotherly heart, and Christie soon won her confidence by bestowingher own. Her story was like many another; yet, being the firstChristie had ever heard, and told with the unconscious eloquence ofone who had suffered and escaped, it made a deep impression on her,bringing home to her a sense of obligation so forcibly that shebegan at once to pay a little part of the great debt which the whiterace owes the black.

Christie loved books; and the attic next her own was full of them.To this store she found her way by a sort of instinct as sure asthat which leads a fly to a honey-pot, and, finding many novels, sheread her fill. This amusement lightened many heavy hours, peopledthe silent house with troops of friends, and, for a time, was thejoy of her life.

Hepsey used to watch her as she sat buried in her book when theday's work was done, and once a heavy sigh roused Christie from themost exciting crisis of "The Abbot."

"What's the matter? Are you very tired, Aunty?" she asked, using thename that came most readily to her lips.

"No, honey; I was only wishin' I could read fast like you does. I'sberry slow 'bout readin' and I want to learn a heap," answeredHepsey, with such a wistful look in her soft eyes that Christie shuther book, saying briskly:

"Then I'll teach you. Bring out your primer and let's begin atonce."

"Dear chile, it's orful hard work to put learnin' in my ole head,and I wouldn't 'cept such a ting from you only I needs dis sort ofhelp so bad, and I can trust you to gib it to me as I wants it."

Then in a whisper that went straight to Christie's heart, Hepseytold her plan and showed what help she craved.

For five years she had worked hard, and saved her earnings for thepurpose of her life. When a considerable sum had been hoarded up,she confided it to one whom she believed to be a friend, and senthim to buy her old mother. But he proved false, and she never saweither mother or money. It was a hard blow, but she took heart andwent to work again, resolving this time to trust no one with thedangerous part of the affair, but when she had scraped togetherenough to pay her way she meant to go South and steal her mother atthe risk of her life.

"I don't want much money, but I must know little 'bout readin' andcountin' up, else I'll get lost and cheated. You'll help me do dis,honey, and I'll bless you all my days, and so will my old mammy, ifI ever gets her safe away."

With tears of sympathy shining on her cheeks, and both handsstretched out to the poor soul who implored this small boon of her,Christie promised all the help that in her lay, and kept her wordreligiously.

From that time, Hepsey's cause was hers; she laid by a part of herwages for "ole mammy," she comforted Hepsey with happy prophecies ofsuccess, and taught with an energy and skill she had never knownbefore. Novels lost their charms now, for Hepsey could give her acomedy and tragedy surpassing any thing she found in them, becausetruth stamped her tales with a power and pathos the most giftedfancy could but poorly imitate.

The select receptions upstairs seemed duller than ever to her now,and her happiest evenings were spent in the tidy kitchen, watchingHepsey laboriously shaping A's and B's, or counting up on her wornfingers the wages they had earned by months of weary work, that shemight purchase one treasure, - a feeble, old woman, worn out withseventy years of slavery far away there in Virginia.

For a year Christie was a faithful servant to her mistress, whoappreciated her virtues, but did not encourage them; a true friendto poor Hepsey, who loved her dearly, and found in her sympathy andaffection a solace for many griefs and wrongs. But Providence hadother lessons for Christie, and when this one was well learned shewas sent away to learn another phase of woman's life and labor.

While their domestics amused themselves with privy conspiracy andrebellion at home, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart spent their evenings inchasing that bright bubble called social success, and usually camehome rather cross because they could not catch it.

On one of these occasions they received a warm welcome, for, as theyapproached the house, smoke was seen issuing from an attic window,and flames flickering behind the half-drawn curtain. Bursting out ofthe carriage with his usual impetuosity, Mr. Stuart let himself inand tore upstairs shouting "Fire!" like an engine company.

In the attic Christie was discovered lying dressed upon her bed,asleep or suffocated by the smoke that filled the room. A book hadslipped from her hand, and in falling had upset the candle on achair beside her; the long wick leaned against a cotton gown hangingon the wall, and a greater part of Christie's wardrobe was burningbrilliantly.

"I forbade her to keep the gas lighted so late, and see what thedeceitful creature has done with her private candle!" cried Mrs.Stuart with a shrillness that roused the girl from her heavy sleepmore effectually than the anathemas Mr. Stuart was fulminatingagainst the fire.

Sitting up she looked dizzily about her. The smoke was clearingfast, a window having been opened; and the tableau was a strikingone. Mr. Stuart with an excited countenance was dancing franticallyon a heap of half-consumed clothes pulled from the wall. He had notonly drenched them with water from bowl and pitcher, but had alsocast those articles upon the pile like extinguishers, and wasskipping among the fragments with an agility which contrasted withhis stout figure in full evening costume, and his besmirched face,made the sight irresistibly ludicrous.

Mrs. Stuart, though in her most regal array, seemed to have left herdignity downstairs with her opera cloak, for with skirts gatheredclosely about her, tiara all askew, and face full of fear and anger,she stood upon a chair and scolded like any shrew.

The comic overpowered the tragic, and being a little hysterical withthe sudden alarm, Christie broke into a peal of laughter that sealedher fate.

"Look at her! look at her!" cried Mrs. Stuart gesticulating on herperch as if about to fly. "She has been at the wine, or lost herwits. She must go, Horatio, she must go! I cannot have my nervesshattered by such dreadful scenes. She is too fond of books, and ithas turned her brain. Hepsey can watch her to-night, and at dawn sheshall leave the house for ever."

"Not till after breakfast, my dear. Let us have that in comfort Ibeg, for upon my soul we shall need it," panted Mr. Stuart, sinkinginto a chair exhausted with the vigorous measures which had quenchedthe conflagration.

Christie checked her untimely mirth, explained the probable cause ofthe mischief, and penitently promised to be more careful for thefuture.

Mr. Stuart would have pardoned her on the spot, but Madame wasinexorable, for she had so completely forgotten her dignity that shefelt it would be impossible ever to recover it in the eyes of thisdisrespectful menial. Therefore she dismissed her with a lecturethat made both mistress and maid glad to part.

She did not appear at breakfast, and after that meal Mr. Stuart paidChristie her wages with a solemnity which proved that he had taken acurtain lecture to heart. There was a twinkle in his eye, however,as he kindly added a recommendation, and after the door closedbehind him Christie was sure that he exploded into a laugh at therecollection of his last night's performance.

This lightened her sense of disgrace very much, so, leaving a partof her money to repair damages, she packed up her dilapidatedwardrobe, and, making Hepsey promise to report progress from time totime, Christie went back to Mrs. Flint's to compose her mind and beready à la Micawber "for something to turn up."