“Can’t you get some one else to do your washing this week?”

I made no reply.  The question was easily asked.  After that, my husband was silent,—­silent in that peculiar way that I understood, too well, as the effect of my words, or tones, or state of mind.  Here was another cause for unhappiness, in the reflection that I had disturbed my husband’s peace.

I am sure that I did not much look like a loving wife and mother as I presided at the dinner table that day.  The children never seemed so restless and hard to manage; and I could not help speaking to them, every now and then, “as if I would take their heads off;” but to little good effect.

After my husband went away on finishing his dinner, I went to bed, and cried for more than half the afternoon.  Oh! how wretched I felt!  Life seemed an almost intolerable burden.

Then my mind grew more composed, and I tried to think about what was to be done.  The necessity for having the clothes washed was absolute; and this roused me, at length, as the most pressing domestic duty, into thinking so earnestly, that I presently rang the bell for Netty, who came in her own good time.

“Tell Agnes that I want to see her,” said I, not in a very good-natured way.

The effect was that Netty left the chamber without replying, and slammed the door hard after her, which mark of disrespect set my blood to boiling.  In a little while my cook made her appearance.

“Agnes,” said I, “do you know of any one that can get to do the washing this week?”

Agnes thought for a few moments, and then replied—­

“There’s a poor woman who lives near my mother’s.  I think she goes out to wash sometimes.”

“I wish you would step round and see if she can’t come here to-morrow.”

Agnes said that she would do so.

“Tell her she must come,” said I.

“Very well, ma’am.”

And Agnes withdrew.

In an hour she tame back, and said that she had seen the woman, who promised to come.

“What is her name?” I asked.

“Mrs. Partridge,” was answered.

“You think she won’t disappoint me?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.  I don’t think Mrs. Partridge is the kind of a woman to promise and then disappoint a person.”

It was some relief to think I was going to get my washing done; but the idea of having the ironing about all the week fretted my mind.  And no sooner was this leading trouble set aside, than I began to worry about the children’s clothes, and the prospect of losing my cook, who had managed my kitchen more to my satisfaction than any one had ever done before.

The promise for a pleasant hour at home was but little more flattering to my husband, when he returned in the evening, than it had been at dinner time.  I was still in a sombre mood.