During the following week Mrs. Tressady told Belle she must not rush into a room shouting news—­she must enter quietly and wait for an opportunity to speak; Mrs. Tressady asked her to leave the house by the side porch and quietly when going out in the evening to drive with her young man; Mrs. Tressady asked her not to deliver the mail with the announcement:  “Three from New York, an ad from Emville, and one with a five-cent stamp on it;” she asked her not to shout out from the drive, “White skirt show?” She said Belle must not ask, “What’s he doing?” when discovering Mr. Tressady deep in a chess problem; Belle must not drop into a chair when bringing Timmy out to the porch after his afternoon outing; she must not be heard exclaiming, “Yankee Doodle!” and “What do you know about that!” when her broom dislodged a spider or her hair caught on the rose-bushes.

To all of these requests Belle answered, “Sure!” with great penitence and amiability.

“Sure, Mis’ Tress’dy—­Say, listen!  I can match that insertion I spilled ink on—­in Emville.  Isn’t that the limit?  I can fix it so it’ll never show in the world!”

“I wouldn’t stand that girl for—­one—­minute,” said Mrs. Porter to her husband; but this was some weeks later when the Porters were in a comfortable Pullman, rushing toward New York.

“I think Molly’s afraid of flying in the face of Providence and discharging her,” said Peter Porter—­“but praying every day that she’ll go.”

This was almost the truth.  Belle’s loyalty, affection, good nature, and willingness were beyond price, but Belle’s noisiness, her slang, and her utter lack of training were a sore trial.  When November came, with rains that kept the little household at Rising Water prisoners indoors, Mrs. Tressady began to think she could not stand Belle much longer.

“My goodness!” Belle would say loudly when sent for to bring a filled lamp.  “Is that other lamp burned out already?  Say, listen!  I’ll give you the hall lamp while I fill it.”  “You oughtn’t to touch pie just after one of your headaches!” she would remind her employer in a respectful aside at dinner.  And sometimes when Molly and her husband were busy in the study a constant stream of conversation would reach them from the nursery where Belle was dressing Timothy: 

“Now where’s the boy that’s going to let Belle wash his face?  Oh, my, what a good boy!  Now, just a minny—­minny—­minny—­that’s all.  Now give Belle a sweet, clean kiss—­yes, but give Belle a sweet, clean kiss—­give Belle a kiss—­oh, Timmy, do you want Belle to cry?  Well, then, give her a kiss—­give Belle a sweet kiss—­”