“AH, good morning, dear!  I’m really glad to see you,” said Helen Armitage to her young friend Fanny Milnor, as the latter came in to sit an hour with her.  “I just wanted a little sunshine.”

“There ought to be plenty of sunshine here,” returned Fanny smiling.  “You always seem happy, and so does your mother and sister Mary, whenever I meet you abroad.”

“Abroad, or at home, makes quite a difference, Fanny.  Precious little sunshine have we here.  Not a day passes over our heads, that we are not thrown into hot water about something or other, with our abominable servants.  I declare!  I never saw the like, and it grows worse and worse every day.”

“Indeed!  That is bad, sure enough.  But can’t you remedy this defect in some way?”

“We try hard enough, dear knows!  I believe we have had no less than, six cooks, and as many chambermaids in the last three months.  But change only makes the matter worse.  Sometimes they are so idle and dirty that we cannot tolerate them for a week.  And then again they are so ill-natured, and downright saucy, that no one can venture to speak to them.”

As Helen Armitage said this, she arose from her chair, and walking deliberately across the room, rang the parlor bell, and then quietly walked back again and resumed her seat, continuing her remarks as she did so, upon the exhaustless theme she had introduced.  In a little while a domestic entered.

“That door has been left open by some one,” the young lady said, in a half vexed tone of authority, and with a glance of reproof, as she pointed to the door of the back parlor leading into the passage.

The servant turned quickly away, muttering as she did so, and left the parlor, slamming the door after her with a sudden, indignant jerk.

“You see that!” remarked Helen, the color deepening on her cheeks, and her voice indicating a good deal of inward disturbance.  “That’s just the way we are served by nine out of ten of the people we get about us.  They neglect every thing, and then, when reminded of their duty, flirt, and grumble, and fling about just as you saw that girl do this moment.  I’ll ring for her again, and make her shut that door as she ought to do, the insolent creature!”

Helen was rising, when Fanny laid her hand on her arm, and said, in a quiet persuasive tone,

“No—­no—­don’t, Helen.  She is out of temper, and will only retort angrily at further reproof.  The better way is to pass over these things as if you did not notice them.”

“And let them ride over us rough shod, as they most certainly will!  The fact is, with all our efforts to make them know and keep their places, we find it impossible to gain any true subordination in the house.”

“We never have any trouble of this kind,” Fanny said.

“You must be very fortunate then.”

“I don’t know as to that.  I never recollect an instance in which a domestic opposed my mother or failed to obey, cheerfully, any request.  And we have had several in our house, within my recollection.  At least half a dozen.”