They do not want anything
more."
"You said they did not have the food they liked," I objected.
"Who does?" said Preston. "I am sure I don't, — not more than
one day in seven, on an average."
"But don't they have any wages at all?" I persisted. "Our
coachman at Melbourne had thirty dollars a month; and Logan
had forty dollars, and his house and garden. Why shouldn't
Darry have wages too? Don't they have any wages at all,
Preston?"
"Why, yes! they have plenty of corn bread and bacon, I tell
you; and their clothes. Daisy, they _belong_ to you, these
people do."
Corn bread and bacon was not much like chickens and pound
cake, I thought; and I remembered our servants at Melbourne
were very, very differently dressed from the women I saw about
me here; even in the house. I stood bewildered and pondering.
Preston tried to get me to go on.
"Why shouldn't they have wages?" I asked at length, with lips
which I believe were growing old with my thoughts.
"Daisy, they are your servants; they _belong_ to you.
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