vigorously to the gay-flowered carpet in the Landis parlor. "Because
us folks got to work ain't no reason why them tony people over to the
Perfessor's should call me a 'servant.' I guess I know I milk the
cows, wash dishes, scrub floors, and do the washin' and ir'nin' every
week, but I'm no 'servant,' I'm just as good any day as that
good-fer-nothin' Perfesser's son," continued Sibylla, growing red in
the face with indignation. "Didn't I hear that worthless scamp, Fritz
Schmidt, a-referrin' to me and a-sayin' to Miss Midleton fer the
'servant' to bring over the butter? Betch yer life this here 'servant'
ain't a-goin' to allow eddicated people to make a fool of her. First
chance I get I'll give that Perfesser a piece of my mind."

Sibylla's opportunity came rather unexpectedly. The gentle,
mild-mannered Professor was on good terms with his sturdy, energetic
neighbor, John Landis, and frequently visited him for a neighborly
chat. On this particular day he called as usual and found Sibvlla in
the mood described.

"Good afternoon, Sibylla," said the Professor, good-naturedly. "How
are you today?"

"I'd be a whole lot better if some people weren't so smart," replied
Sibylla, venting her feelings on the broom. "Should think a Perfesser
would feel himself too big to talk to a 'servant'."

"On the contrary, my dear girl, I feel honored. I presume you are not
feeling as well as usual. What makes you think it is condescension for
me to address you?" asked the genial old man, kindly.

"Well, since you ask me, I don't mind a-tellin' you. Yesterday your