the chilly air, saying, as he did so:
“That girl’s let the fire go out again in the heater! Isn’t it too
bad? This thing happens now every little while. I’m sure I’ve said
enough to her about it. There’s nothing wanted but a little
attention.”
“It is too bad, indeed,” I added.
“There’s that fishy smell again!” exclaimed Mr. Smith. “What can it
be?”
“Fishy smell! So there is.”
“Did you get any mackerel from the store yesterday?”
“None.”
“Perhaps Hannah ordered some?”
“No. I had a ham sent home, and told her to have a slice of that
broiled for breakfast.”
“I don’t know what to make of it. Every now and then that same smell
comes up through the register—particularly in the morning. I’ll bet
a sixpence there’s some old fish tub in the cellar of which she’s
made kindling.”
“That may be it,” said I.
And, for want of a better reason, we agreed, for the time being,
upon that hypothesis.
At the end of another four days, word came up that our best sperm
oil, for which we paid a dollar and forty cents a gallon, was out
again.
“Impossible!” I ejaculated.
“But it is mum,” said Hannah. “There’s not a scrimption left—not so
much as the full of a thimble.”
“You must be mistaken. A gallon of oil has never been burned in this
house in four days.”
“We burned the other gallon in four days,” said Hannah, with
provoking coolness. “The evenings are very long, and we have a great
many lights. There’s the parlor light, and the passage light, and
the—”
“It’s no use for you to talk, Hannah,” I replied, interrupting her.
“No use in the world. A gallon of oil in four days has never gone by
fair means in this house. So don’t try to make me believe it—for I
won’t. I’m too old a housekeeper for that.”
Finding that I was not to be convinced, Hannah became angry, and
said something about her not being a “thafe.” I was unmoved by this,
however; and told her, with as much sternness of manner as I could
assume, that I should hold her responsible for any future waste of
the article; and that if she did not feel inclined to remain on such
terms, she had better go.
“Dade, thin, and I’ll go to onst,” was the girl’s spirited answer.
“Very well, Hannah. You are your own mistress in this respect,” said
I, coolly. “I’m not in the least troubled about filling your place;
nor fearful of getting one who will waste a gallon of oil in four
days.”
Hannah retired from my presence in high indignation, and I fully
expected that she would desert my house forthwith. But, no; unlike
