Mademoiselle admitted the truth of this conjecture: according to her, "ces paysannes anglaises taient tout insupportables." What would she not give for some "bonne cuisinire anversoise," with the high cap, short petticoat, and decent sabots proper to her class--something better, indeed, than an insolent coquette in a flounced gown, and absolutely without cap! (For Sarah, it appears, did not partake the opinion of St. Paul that "it is a shame for a woman to go with her head uncovered;" but, holding rather a contrary doctrine, resolutely refused to imprison in linen or muslin the plentiful tresses of her yellow hair, which it was her wont to fasten up smartly with a comb behind, and on Sundays to wear curled in front.)
"Shall I try and get you an Antwerp girl?" asked Mr. Moore, who, stern in public, was on the whole very kind in private.
"Merci du cadeau!" was the answer. "An Antwerp girl would not stay here ten days, sneered at as she would be by all the young coquines in your factory;" then softening, "You are very good, dear brother--excuse my petulance--but truly my domestic trials are severe, yet they are probably my destiny; for I recollect that our revered mother experienced similar sufferings, though she had the choice of all the best servants in Antwerp. Domestics are in all countries a spoiled and unruly set."

Mademoiselle admitted the truth of this.
"Shall I try and get you an Antwerp girl?" asked Mr. Moore, who, stern in public, was kind in private.
"An Antwerp girl would not stay, sneered at as she would be by all the young coquines in your factory;" then softening, "You are very good, dear brother - excuse my petulance - but my domestic trials are severe. Yet I recollect that our revered mother experienced similar sufferings, though she had the choice of all the best servants in Antwerp."
