“Well,” said Kinch, with the air of a person of vast experience in difficult cases, “I should drown the cat—­I’d do that at once—­as soon as I got there; then, let me ask you, has Aunt Rachel got corns?”

“Corns!  I wish you could see her shoes,” replied Charlie.  “Why you could sail down the river in ’em, they are so large.  Yes, she has got corns, bunions, and rheumatism, and everything else.”

“Ah! then,” said Kinch, “your way is clear enough if she has got corns.  I should confine myself to operating on them.  I should give my whole attention to her feet.  When she attempts to take hold of you, do you jist come down on her corns, fling your shins about kinder wild, you know, and let her have it on both feet.  You see I’ve tried that plan, and know by experience that it works well.  Don’t you see, you can pass that off as an accident, and it don’t look well to be scratching and biting.  As for the lady of the house, old Mrs. what’s-her-name, do you just manage to knock her wig off before some company, and they’ll send you home at once—­they’ll hardly give you time to get your hat.”

Charlie laid these directions aside in his mind for future application, and asked,

“What did you do, Kinch, to get away from the people you were with?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Kinch, laughing; “don’t, boy, don’t ask me—­my conscience troubles me awful about it sometimes.  I fell up stairs with dishes, and I fell down stairs with dishes.  I spilled oil on the carpet, and broke a looking-glass; but it was all accidental—­entirely accidental—­they found I was too ‘’spensive,’ and so they sent me home.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do anything like that—­I wouldn’t destroy anything—­but I’ve made up my mind that I won’t stay there at any rate.  I don’t mind work—­I want to do something to assist father and mother; but I don’t want to be any one’s servant.  I wish I was big enough to work at the shop.”

“How did your mother come to think of putting you there?” asked Kinch.

“The Lord alone knows,” was the reply.  “I suppose old Mrs. Thomas told her it was the best thing that could be done for me, and mother thinks what she says is law and gospel.  I believe old Mrs. Thomas thinks a coloured person can’t get to Heaven, without first living at service a little while.”

The school bell ringing put an end to this important conversation, and the boys recommenced their lessons.

When Charlie returned from school, the first person he saw on entering the house was Robberts, Mrs. Thomas’s chief functionary, and the presiding genius of the wine cellar—­when he was trusted with the key.  Charlie learned, to his horror and dismay, that he had been sent by Mrs. Thomas to inquire into the possibility of obtaining his services immediately, as they were going to have a series of dinner parties, and it was thought that he could be rendered quite useful.

“And must I go, mother?” he asked.