come to town, I thought I would just run here and enquire, and see Miss Inglett myself."
"We have had an Inglett here, certainly," answered Welsh, composedly, "and very decent pastry she made. She had a light hand."
"I do not comprehend."
"Are you in want of a cook, a nursemaid, or parlour maid? She was a handy girl, and Mrs. Welsh would be happy to give her a good character—a true and honest one, no reading between the lines, no disguising of defects. She did not drink, was not a lie-abed, and was clean in her work and person. I won't say whether she put her fingers into the sugar, because I don't know, and Mrs. Welsh keeps the preserves and candied fruit locked up in the sideboard."
"I do not understand," said Mrs. Cribbage, gazing perplexedly at Mr. Welsh's imperturbable face.
"She was a sort of general hand with us," explained Welsh, "was that girl Inglett. We were sorry to lose her but she thought to better herself, and we do not give high wages. We can't afford to pay more than twelve pounds, and no beer. But the maid has the tea-leaves and dripping. That is—she had; but now that we have a cook, the cook arrogates the dripping to herself. We bear the young woman no grudge for leaving us. It is the way with girls, they will always be on the move, and if they can better themselves by moving, why not? What wages do you pay, ma'am? And how about perquisites?"
"You had a general servant named Inglett?"
"Yes, and our present housemaid is named Budge. Our cook is Mrs. Winter. The last cook we had drank, and ran up a ladder. It took several policemen to get her down. The ladder was of extraordinary height. It stood in a builder's yard. It was impossible for us to retain the woman after that. She had risen into notoriety. Then,
