"It is your choice to go—is it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"But we choose to keep you," interposed Mr. Broadson.
"My dear! my dear!" exclaimed his wife, "allow me to settle this—it's your rule that I should see to the servants. Lucy, you know the consequences of going before the month is up?"
"I hoped, ma'am, as Judy is not well, and there is but one week of my month, you would be willing to let me stay till my month is up."
"Oh, no—it's your own choice to give up the place—I did not as you, remember—if you choose to go, you must go now—I make it a rule never to have my kitchen cluttered up with folks." Lucy, unused as she was to maintain her rights, was now nerved by a strong motive, and she ventured to say that she thought, under the circumstances, she was entitled to her wages. "We must go according to rule, child," replied Mrs. Broadson; "I can't spend any more time talking—I must dress for church—I never talk about business on the Sabbath. Remember what I said to you about the apples, and nuts, and dusting the glasses," &c.
Mr. Broadson looked after his wife, and listened till her last footstep died away, and then he took out his purse, and paid Lucy, to a fraction, the money due for her three weeks' service. He was an honest, though not a generous man, and as he put the money into her hand, he said, "You have a right to it, Lucy."
"I believe I have, sir," replied Lucy, with true dignity ; "but, for all that, I thank you, and so will mother—and so will our Jemmie." And the tears,
