three rashers, toasted crisp--understand?"

As the girl turned to descend a voice called to her from another
room on the same floor, a voice very distinctly feminine, rather
shrill, and a trifle imperative.

"Moggie, I want my hot water-sharp!"

"It ain't nine yet, miss," answered Moggie in a tone of
remonstrance.

"I know that--none of your cheek! If you come up here hollering at
people's doors, how can anyone sleep? Bring the hot water at once,
and mind it _is_ hot."

"You'll have to wait till it _gits_ 'ot, miss."

"_Shall_ I? If it wasn't too much trouble I'd come out and smack
your face for you, you dirty little wretch!"

The servant--she was about sixteen, and no dirtier than became her
position--scampered down the stairs, burst into the cellar kitchen,
and in a high, tearful wail complained to her mistress of the
indignity she had suffered. There was no living in the house with
that Miss Sparkes, who treated everybody like dirt under her feet.
Smack her face, would she? What next? And all because she said the
water would have to be '_otted_. And Mr. Gammon wanted his breakfast
in bed, and--and--why, there now, it had all been drove out of her
mind by that Miss Sparkes.