"
"How do you make your coffee?" asked La Fleur.
Molly looked at her hesitatingly.
"I am very keerful about that," she said. "I niver let it bile too
much--"
"Ugh!" exclaimed La Fleur, raising her hand. "Tell your mistress to get
you a French coffee-pot, and if you don't know how to use it, I'll come
and teach you. I shall be here off and on as long as Mrs. Drane stops in
this house." And then, seating herself, La Fleur proceeded to put Molly
through an elementary domestic service examination.
"Well," said the examiner, when she had finished, "I think you must be
the worst cook in this part of the country."
"No, mum, I'm not," said Molly. "There was one here afore me, a nager
woman named Phoebe, that must have been worse, from what I'm told."
"Where I have lived," said La Fleur, "they have such women to cook for the
farm laborers."
"Beggin' your pardon, mum," said Molly, "that's what they are here, or
th' same thing. Mr. Haverley, he works on the farm with a pitchfork, jest
like the nager man."
"Don't talk to me like that!" exclaimed La Fleur.
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