There are always two
of them; but which two, is beyond me. I tell Polly that Four Oaks is a
sprocket-wheel for maids, with two links of an endless chain always on
top. It makes but little difference which links are up, so the work goes
smoothly. Polly thinks the maids come to Four Oaks just as less
independent folk go to the mountains or the shore, for a vacation, or to
be able to say to the policeman, "I've been to the country." Their
system is past finding out; but no matter what it is, we get our dishes
washed and our beds made without serious inconvenience. The wage account
in the house amounts to just $25 a week. My pet system of an increasing
wage for protracted service doesn't appeal to these birds of passage,
who alight long enough to fill their crops with our wild rice and
celery, and then take wing for other feeding-grounds. This kind of life
seems fitted for mallards and maids, and I have no quarrel with either.
From my view, there are happier instincts than those which impel
migration; but remembering that personal views are best applied to
personal use, I wish both maids and mallards _bon voyage_.
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