Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 137, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 June 1910 — ROSE. [ARTICLE]

ROSE.

“No, thank ye, sir,” she said, firmly, when after some*-special occasion Involving extra cooking a dollar was offered her. "I’m paid me wages, and that’s what’s cornin’ to me.” When the head of the house had recovered from the partial paralysis of his faculties, caused by so unprecedented an experience, Rose kindly explained further:' “Ye see, sir, I’ll be afther keepln’ a vow I’ve made —it’s for me indepindlnce. Whin ye accipt folks’ prisints, ye’re sure bound to thim aftherwards.” Having In their home a “character” —and in this title numerous quaint developments besides her steadfast refusal to accept gifts established her — was not the only distinction the employers of Rose enjoyed while she was with them. She could cook — ah, how ■he could cook! The only trouble was that, after having made other cooking flat, stale and unprofitable, her cooking came to an end. For In spite of entreaties—some tearful ones, too —and promises of Increasing pay and decreasing work, Rose left. She assured her mistress, In vivid metaphor, that she “had no kick coming” as regarded her; but after two years with her, she desired change. Doubtless change was “what was cornin’ to her,” and that ended the matter. The sense of justice so inextricably woven Into Rose's fiber operated in other ways than scorning tips. Within the confines of "me own wurruk” she resolutely remained —a thing that furnished her employers with endless entertainment but very little Inconvenience, owing to Rose’s generous conception of her duties. The winding of an old French four-teen-day clock In the dining-room had been among her duties, and never once under her regime did the old clock run down or stop. Saturday night, a week before her departure, Rose wound the clock when her mistress happened to he in the room. The operation seemed to take much less time than usual. “Why, Rose,” she said, “surely you haven’t finished winding the clock?” “I have that, ma’am.” “But you gave It only five turns, and It used to take me ten, at least, if not—" “Sure, It would that,” assented Rose. "But we’ll mebby be rememberin’, ma’am, that I’m lavin’ nlxt Saturday, an’ It’s not for me to be doin’ the new cook’s wurruk.” So departed Rose, “character” and incomparable cook, living evidence that, even In this day of the unemployed, a master of an art can command anything, in wages, In pliant employers and—alas!—ln “change” besides. —Youth’s Companion.