"That old thing! — that's nothing - you should not mind wearing out old clothes, child — I never do"
"I have none but old clothes, ma'am."
"Oh, well, you'll soon earn more."
"But my earnings," thought Lucy, "must go to something more important than buying me clothes." Lucy, however, was strong and industrious, and accustomed to constant labour; Mrs. Broadson's incessant demands would not have exhausted her patience; she could even smile when bid to open the windows of the spare room, and dust it, and shut them up again, and rub over with the soft brush the silver that was rubbed yesterday, knowing that the same process would be to go over to-morrow, the silver meanwhile remaining in "inglorious rest" upon the pantry shelf. But when Sunday came, then came a hard trial to Lucy — she had looked forward to it as the jubilee — the day when she was to go out free.
"What time to-day can I be spared to go home, Mrs. Broadson?" she asked.
"La, child, you speak as if your going home was a matter of course — your mother made no stipulation about that."
"We thought everybody had a part of Sunday."
"Oh, no — you are greatly mistaken - Bridget has every Sunday afternoon; I allow her great privileges." As may be imagined, Bridget had stipulated for her "privileges." "Every other Sunday she has the whole day — to-day I expect you to cook the dinner — I can't possibly spare you."
"But if I get the dinner cooked, and everything
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