Chapter I was aroused from my sleep, shortly after daylight, \>j a tremendous knocking at the kitchen door, and jumping up sud denly knocked my hand against the sofa, and hurst the blister that stood like a small mountain over my knuckles. This was a trifle indeed, compared to the pain in my gouty toe when I attempted to put it on the ground. The knocking increased. T heard the children moving, and made a desperate attempt to dress, and then with a stiffness about the joints for which I could scarcely account, and a feeling of weariness and depression that was by no means relieved by the thought that I was alone, and the children had to be dressed and the breakfast got ready, I limped downstairs and opened the kitchen door. An immense bundle stood before me—if any one can imagine such a thing—with a face looking out from an immense cloth tied round its head. This extraordinary creature had a complexion of the most bril liant scarlet, deepened here and therewith a tinge of purple ; this mass of colour was slightly relieved by a pair of little eyes, almost lost in the surroundings, and a little turned-up nose like a pea on end. To add to her beauty, she had an immense double-chin, if another was not hidden by the cloth around her head. "Well," I said, after staring at her for a moment in aome perplexity. She came nearer, and raised her finger in a confidential manner. " Me is servant, come cook, scrub, wash." "Oh !" I said, as a light broke upon me, the new girl. For a moment I thought of sending her away again —it was but for a moment. My helpless condition flashed across me, and I told her to come in. She gazed in a sort of idiotic way around the kitchen. "You can light a fire," I said. She nodded. " Make breakfast," said I again. Another nod. ''Dress children." She only stared at me. "Put clothes on children," I explained ; and I began to shiver, for the door was open and the cold morning air pierced through my dressing gown. Another stare. "Me not speak much English goot," said this extraordi nary damsel at last. 