"You see it is just this way, Mr. Malcolm, my dear," she said to him
once; "the mistress, bless her heart, thinks of nothing but them
charitable societies, from morning till night; they are more to her
than meat or drink or rest. She is as strong as a horse, and so she
is never tired like other folks. Why, my dear, I have known her
spend a whole day going from one meeting to another, speechifying
and reading reports, and yet when I have gone up to dress her in the
evening she has been as fresh as paint. She is made of cast-iron,
that's my belief," continued Dawson, who secretly adored her
mistress; "but cast-iron is one thing and a fragile blossom like
Miss Anna is another, as I made bold to tell my mistress the other
day; 'for it stands to reason, ma'am,' I said to her, 'that a young
creature like Miss Anna is not seasoned and toughened like a lady of
your age, and I never did think much of her constitution.'"

"And what did my mother say to that, Dawson?"

"Well, dearie, she had a deal to say, for I am free to confess that
my mistress is never at a loss for words. She argued with me for
pretty nigh half an hour--until she made things look so different
that I did not know whether I was on my head or my heels."

"She would have it that every one ought to work, old or young, rich
or poor; that she loved Miss Anna all the better for so readily
offering herself for the work. 'I should have left her free,' she
said that, Mr. Malcolm--'no one in my house should be compelled or
urged to put their hand to the plough; but when she came to me of
her own accord I could have wept with joy.'"

"Did my mother really say that, Dawson?"