“Four.”

“All young?”

“Yes, ma’am.  The oldest is only in her tenth year, but she is a good little girl, and takes care of the baby for me almost as well as a grown person.  I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“But ain’t you afraid to leave them all at home alone, for so long a time?”

“No, ma’am.  Jane takes excellent care of them, and she is so kind that they will obey her as well as they do me.  I don’t know what in the world I would do without her.  I am certainly blessed in having so good a child.”

“And only in her tenth year!” said I—­the image of my Alice coming before my mind, with the thought of the little use she would be as a nurse and care-taker of her younger brothers and sisters.

“She is young, I know,” returned the washerwoman—­“too young to be confined down as much as she is.  But then she is a very patient child, and knows that her mother has a great deal to do.  I often wish it was easier for her; though, as it can’t be helped, I don’t let it fret me, for you know that would do no good.”

“But how in the world, Mrs. Partridge,” said I, “do you manage to provide for four children, and do for them at the same time?”

“I find it hard work,” she replied; “and sometimes I feel discouraged for a little while; but by patience and perseverance I manage to get along.”

Mrs. Partridge went to her washing, and I sat down in my comfortable room, having a servant in every department of my family, and ample means for the supply of every comfort and luxury I could reasonably desire.

“If she can get along by patience and perseverance,” said I to myself, “it’s a shame for me that I can’t.”  Still, for all this, when I thought of losing my cook through the bad influence of Netty, the chambermaid, I felt worried; and thinking about this, and what I should do for another cook, and the trouble always attendant upon bringing a new domestic into the house, made me, after a while, feel almost as unhappy as before.  It was not long before Netty came into my room, saying, as she did so—­

“Mrs. Smith, what frock shall I put on Alice?”

“The one with a blue sprig,” I replied.

“That’s in the wash,” was answered.

“In the wash!” said I, in a fretful tone.  “How came it in the wash?”

“It was dirty.”

“No, it wasn’t any such thing.  It would have done very well for her to put on as a change to-day and to-morrow.”

“Well, ma’am, it’s in the wash, and no help for it now,” said Netty, quite pertly.

I was dreadfully provoked with her, and had it on my tongue to order her to leave my presence instantly.  But I choked down my rising indignation.

“Take the red and white one, then,” said I.

“The sleeve’s nearly torn off of that.  There isn’t any one that she can wear except her white muslin.”

“Oh dear!  It’s too bad!  What shall I do?  The children are all in rags and tatters!”