Ch. 2 - Servant - Page 2

saucy housemaids to sharpen the tones of her shrill voice;
and an incapable husband to burden her shoulders like a modern "Old
man of the sea."

A little room far up in the tall house was at the girl's disposal
for a reasonable sum, and she took possession, feeling very rich
with the hundred dollars Uncle Enos gave her, and delightfully
independent, with no milk-pans to scald; no heavy lover to elude; no
humdrum district school to imprison her day after day.

For a week she enjoyed her liberty heartily, then set about finding
something to do. Her wish was to be a governess, that being the
usual refuge for respectable girls who have a living to get. But
Christie soon found her want of accomplishments a barrier to success
in that line, for the mammas thought less of the solid than of the
ornamental branches, and wished their little darlings to learn
French before English, music before grammar, and drawing before
writing.

So, after several disappointments, Christie decided that her
education was too old-fashioned for the city, and gave up the idea
of teaching. Sewing she resolved not to try till every thing else
failed; and, after a few more attempts to get writing to do, she
said to herself, in a fit of humility and good sense: "I'll begin at
the beginning, and work my way up. I'll put my pride in my pocket,
and go out to service. Housework I like, and can do well, thanks to
Aunt Betsey. I never thought it degradation to do it for her, so why
should I mind doing it for others if they pay for it? It isn't what
I want, but it's better than idleness, so I'll try it!"

Full of this wise resolution, she took to haunting that purgatory of
the poor, an intelligence office. Mrs. Flint gave her a
recommendation, and she hopefully took her place among the ranks of
buxom German, incapable Irish, and "smart" American women; for in
those days foreign help had not driven farmers' daughters out of the
field, and made domestic comfort a lost art.

At first Christie enjoyed the novelty of the thing, and watched with
interest the anxious housewives who flocked in demanding that rara
avis, an angel at nine shillings a week; and not finding it,
bewailed the degeneracy of the times. Being too honest to profess
herself absolutely perfect in every known branch of house-work, it
was some time before she suited herself. Meanwhile, she was
questioned and lectured, half engaged and kept waiting, dismissed
for a whim, and so worried that she began to regard herself as the
incarnation of all human vanities and shortcomings.

"A desirable place in a small, genteel family," was at last offered
her, and she posted away to secure it, having reached a state of