heart." For an hour I continued to rock and fret myself, and then
came to the desperate resolution to go to work and try what I could
do with my own hands. But where was I to begin? What was I to take
hold of first? All the children were in rags.

"Not one of them has a decent garment to his back," said I.

So, after worrying for a whole hour about what I should do, and
where I should begin, I abandoned the idea of attempting any thing
myself, in despair, and concluded the perplexing debate by taking
another hearty crying-spell. The poor washerwoman was forgotten
during most of this afternoon. My own troubles were too near the
axis of vision, and shut out all other objects.

The dusky twilight had begun to fall, and I was still sitting idly
in my chamber, and as unhappy as I could be. I felt completely
discouraged. How _was_ I to get along? I had been trying for weeks,
in vain, to get a good seamstress; and yet had no prospect of
obtaining one. I was going to lose my cook, and, in all probability,
my chambermaid. What would I do? No light broke in through the
cloudy veil that overhung my mind. The door opened, and Agnes, who
had come up to my room, said--

"Mrs. Partridge is done."

I took out my purse, and had selected therefrom the change necessary
to pay the washerwoman, when a thought of her caused me to say--

"Tell Mrs. Partridge to come up and see me."