have been saved from much discomfort and suffering. But she had not yet learned that it was her duty to know the actual condition of her domestics, to watch over their health, and, as far as she was qualified by superior judgement, to regulate their expenses. If she had even inquired into Lucy's, she would have been touched with the child's virtue; for Mrs. Ardley was far from being an unfeeling woman; she was only thoughtless, indolent, and self-indulgent. Few women are exposed to glaring vices, but let them beware of the moth and rust that consume their virtues.
The consequence of Lucy's exposure was soon apparent in a severe cold. The running up and down stairs in the irritated state of her lungs gave her pain, and, ignorant as she was of diseases, sad forebodings.
After crawling about for two or three days with a burning cheek and short breath, she was laid on her bed, and Mrs. Ardley's physician being summoned, he pronounced her very ill with inflammation of the lungs. The virtues of Betsy (Sophy's successor) were now called into requisition, and they amply atoned for the want of the graces that belong to polished service. Like most American bred domestics,[1] she had been accustomed to multifarious service. Her talents had been developed by a life of exigences. She used her head as well as her hands, and, as Lucy found, her heart for the direction of both. "What is your mother's
- ↑ We once heard an Englishwoman, a competent judge, say that the very best domestics she had ever seen, excepting the Scotch, who did not surpass them, were the American female domestics in Boston.
