At last it was decided that Molly was to go away.  Molly went away to work in a factory in the town, and she went to live with an old woman in the slums, a very bad old woman Anna said.

Anna was never easy in her mind about the fate of Molly.  Sometimes she would see or hear of her.  Molly was not well, her cough was worse, and the old woman really was a bad one.

After a year of this unwholesome life, Molly was completely broken down.  Anna then again took her in charge.  She brought her from her work and from the woman where she lived, and put her in a hospital to stay till she was well.  She found a place for her as nursemaid to a little girl out in the country, and Molly was at last established and content.

Molly had had, at first, no regular successor.  In a few months it was going to be the summer and Miss Mathilda would be gone away, and old Katie would do very well to come in every day and help Anna with her work.

Old Katy was a heavy, ugly, short and rough old german woman, with a strange distorted german-english all her own.  Anna was worn out now with her attempt to make the younger generation do all that it should and rough old Katy never answered back, and never wanted her own way.  No scolding or abuse could make its mark on her uncouth and aged peasant hide.  She said her “Yes, Miss Annie,” when an answer had to come, and that was always all that she could say.

“Old Katy is just a rough old woman, Miss Mathilda,” Anna said, “but I think I keep her here with me.  She can work and she don’t give me trouble like I had with Molly all the time.”

Anna always had a humorous sense from this old Katy’s twisted peasant english, from the roughness on her tongue of buzzing s’s and from the queer ways of her brutish servile humor.  Anna could not let old Katy serve at table—­old Katy was too coarsely made from natural earth for that—­and so Anna had all this to do herself and that she never liked, but even then this simple rough old creature was pleasanter to her than any of the upstart young.

Life went on very smoothly now in these few months before the summer came.  Miss Mathilda every summer went away across the ocean to be gone for several months.  When she went away this summer old Katy was so sorry, and on the day that Miss Mathilda went, old Katy cried hard for many hours.  An earthy, uncouth, servile peasant creature old Katy surely was.  She stood there on the white stone steps of the little red brick house, with her bony, square dull head with its thin, tanned, toughened skin and its sparse and kinky grizzled hair, and her strong, squat figure a little overmade on the right side, clothed in her blue striped cotton dress, all clean and always washed but rough and harsh to see—­and she stayed there on the steps till Anna brought her in, blubbering, her apron to her face, and making queer guttural broken moans.

When Miss Mathilda early in the fall came to her house again old Katy was not there.