THE AMERICAN
"The courts care nothing for my lady," Newman replied. "If she has committed a crime she'll be nothing for the courts but a wicked old woman."
"And will they hang her, sir?"
"That depends upon what she has done." And Newman eyed his friend intently.
"It would break up the family most terribly, sir!"
"It's high time such a family should be broken up!" he outrageously declared.
"And me at my age out of place, sir!" sighed Mrs. Bread.
"Oh, I'll take care of you! You shall come and live with me. You shall be my housekeeper or anything you like. You shall sit and be waited on and twiddle your thumbs. I'll pension you for life."
"Dear, dear, sir, you think of everything." And she seemed to fall a-brooding.
He watched her a while; then he said suddenly: "Ah, Mrs. Bread, you're too foolishly fond of my lady!"
She looked at him as quickly. "I would n't have you say that, sir. I don't think it any part of my duty to be fond of my lady. I've served her faithfully this many a year; but if she were to die tomorrow I believe before heaven I should n't shed a tear for her." Then after a pause, "I've no such great reason to love her!" Mrs. Bread added. "The most she has done for me has been not to turn me out of the house." Newman felt that decidedly his companion was more and more confidential—that, if luxury is corrupting, Mrs. Bread's conservative habits were already relaxed by the spiritual comfort
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