Much Ado About Peter. Джин Уэбстер

such work from her on such a day.

      Presently Nora came in again. She paused in the doorway, her arms akimbo, and regarded Annie.

      "What's that you've got?" she inquired.

      Then the floodgates of Annie's wrath were opened and she poured out her tale.

      "Don't you mind it, Annie darlin'," said Nora, trying to comfort her. "Miss Ethel didn't mean nothin'. She was in a hurry, likely, an' she didn't stop to think."

      "Didn't think! Why can't she wear some other dress? She's got a whole room just full o' dresses, an' she has to have that special one ironed at a minute's notice. An' Kate comin' three days in the week! It isn't my place to wash—that isn't what Mrs. Carter engaged me for—I wouldn't 'a' minded so much if she'd asked it as a favour, but she just ordered me as if washin' was me work. On Fourth o' July, too, an' Mrs. Carter tellin' me I could have the afternoon off—an' all those ruffles—'have it done by five o'clock,' she says, an' goes out to play."

      Annie threw the dress in a fluffy pile in the middle of the floor.

      "I shan't do it! I won't be ordered about that way by Miss Ethel or anybody else."

      "I'd do it for you meself, Annie, but I couldn't iron that waist no more 'n a kangaroo. But you just get to work on it; you iron beautiful and it won't take you long when you once begin."

      "Won't take me long? It'll take me the whole afternoon; it'll take me forever. I shan't touch it!"

      Annie's eyes wandered out of doors again. The sunshine seemed brighter, the songs of the birds louder, the glimpse of the bay more enticing. And, as she looked, Peter came sauntering out from the stables—Peter in his town clothes, freshly shaven, with a new red necktie and a flower in his buttonhole. He was coming toward the kitchen.

      Annie's lips trembled and she kicked the dress spitefully.

      Peter appeared in the doorway. He, too, had been revolving projects for the fitting celebration of the day, and he wished tentatively to broach them to Annie.

      "What's up?" he inquired, looking from Annie's flushed cheeks to Nora's troubled eyes.

      Annie repeated the story, growing more and more aggrieved as she dwelt upon her wrongs. "An' never so much as said please," she finished.

      "That's nothin'—ye mustn't mind it, Annie. Miss Ethel ain't used to sayin' please." Peter was gropingly endeavouring to soothe her. "I remember times when she was a little girl she'd be so sassy, that, Lor', me fingers was itchin' to shake her! But I knowed she didn't mean nothin', so I just touches me hat an' swallows it. She's used to orderin', Annie, an' ye mustn't mind her."

      "Well, I ain't used to takin' orders like that, an' what's more, I won't! 'Have it done by five o'clock,' she says, an' it's half past two, now. An' all them ruffles! I hate ruffles, an' I won't touch it after the way she talked. Not if she goes down on her knees to me, I won't."

      "Aw, Annie," remonstrated Peter, "what's the use in kickin' up a fuss? Miss Ethel's awful kind hearted when she thinks about it."

      "Kind hearted!" Annie sniffed. "I guess she can afford to be kind hearted, havin' people wait on her from mornin' to night an' never doin' a thing she doesn't want to do. I wish she had to iron once, an' she could just see how she likes it."

      "She gave you a bran' new dress last week," reminded Nora.

      "Yes, an' why? 'Cause when I was dustin' her room she happened to be tryin' it on an' it didn't fit, an' she threw it down on the floor an' said: 'I won't wear that thing! You can have it, Annie.'"

      "The time you burned your hand with her chafing-dish she 'most cried when she saw how blistered it was, an' wrapped it up herself, an' brought you some stuff in a silver box to put on it."

      For a moment Annie showed signs of relenting, but as her glance fell upon the dress again, she hardened. "She tipped the alcohol over me herself an' she'd ought to be sorry. I'd be willin' to do her a favour, but I won't be ordered around. She just pokes it at me as if I was an ironing machine. An' this the Fourth o' July, an' Mrs. Carter tellin' me I could go out. She has enough dresses to last from now till she's gray, an' I just won't touch it!"

      "You won't touch what?" asked Mrs. Carter, appearing in the doorway. She glanced from the girl's angry face to the rumpled frock upon the floor. They told their own story. "What's the meaning of this, Annie?" she asked sharply.

      Annie looked sulky. She stared at the floor a moment without answering, while Peter's and Nora's eyes anxiously scanned Mrs. Carter's face. Finally she replied:

      "You said I could go out this afternoon, ma'am, an' just as I was gettin' ready, Miss Ethel came in an' said I was to wash that dress before five o'clock."

      "I am sorry about your afternoon," said Mrs. Carter. "Miss Ethel didn't know about it, but you may go to-morrow afternoon instead."

      "I was wantin' to go to-day," said Annie. "I'm willin' enough to do me own work, ma'am, but it isn't me place to wash."

      Mrs. Carter's mouth became a straight line.

      "Annie, I never allow my servants to dictate as to what is their work and what is not. When I engage you, I expect you to do whatever you are asked. This is a very easy place; you are allowed to go out a great deal, and you have very little work to do. But when something extra comes up outside your regular work, I expect you to do it willingly and as a matter of course. Miss Ethel has been very kind to you; you can do her a favour in return."

      "I wouldn't mind doin' it as a favour, but she just walks in an' orders it as if it was me regular place to wash."

      "And I order it also," said Mrs. Carter. "You may wash that dress and have it done by five o'clock, or else you may pack your trunk and go." She turned with a firm tread and walked out of the room.

      Annie looked after her with flashing eyes.

      "She orders it too, does she? Well, I won't do it, an' I won't, an' I won't!" She dropped down in a chair at one end of the table and hid her head in her arms.

      Peter cast an anxious glance at Nora; he did not know how to deal with Annie's case. Had she been an obstinate stable-boy, he would have taken her out behind the barn and thrashed reason into her with a leather strap. He awkwardly laid his hand on her shoulder.

      "Aw, Annie, wash the dress; there's a good girl. It won't take ye very long, an' then we'll go down t' the beach to-night to see the fireworks. Miss Ethel didn't mean nothin'. What's the use o' makin' trouble?"

      "It's no more my place to wash than it is Simpkins's," she sobbed. "Why didn't she ask him to do it? I won't stay in a place like this where they order you around like a dog. I'll pack me trunk, I will."

      Nora and Peter regarded each other helplessly. They furtively sympathized with Annie, but they did not dare to do it openly, as sympathy only fanned the flames, and they both knew that Mrs. Carter, having pronounced her ultimatum, would stand by it. Annie must wash that dress before five o'clock, or Annie must go. At the thought of her going, Peter fetched a deep sigh, and two frowning lines appeared on his brow. She had been there only four weeks, but Willowbrook would never again be Willowbrook without her. Presently the silence was broken by the sound of generous footsteps flapping across the back veranda, and Ellen, the cook at Mr. Jasper's, appeared in the doorway.

      "Good afternoon to ye, Nora, an' I wants to borrow a drop o' vanilla. I ardered it two days ago, an' that fool of a grocer's b'y–what's the matter wit' Annie?" she asked, her good-natured laughing face taking on a look of concern as she gazed at the tableau before her.

      Nora and Peter between them explained. Annie, meanwhile, paid no attention to the recital of her wrongs; only her heaving shoulders were eloquent. Ellen hearkened to the story with ready sympathy.

      "Oh, it's a shame, it is, an' on Fort' o' July! We all has our troubles in this world." She sighed heavily and winked at Peter and Nora while she pushed them toward the door. "Get out wit' ye, the two of yez, an' lave her to me," she whispered.

      Ellen reached down and picked up the dress. "'Tis somethin' awful the things people will be puttin' on ye, if ye give 'em the chance. 'Tis a shame to ask any human bein' to wash a dress like that wit' all them ruffles