ly did surprise her young
guest. She had been watching the girl closely, quite without Elliott's
knowledge.

"Perhaps you would like this for your own special part of the work,"
she said pleasantly. "We each have our little chores, you know. I
couldn't let every girl attempt the milk things, but you are so
careful and thorough that I haven't the least hesitation about giving
them to you. Now I am going to wash the separator. Watch me, and then
you will know just what to do."

The words left Elliott gasping. Wash the separator, all by herself,
every day--or was it twice a day?--for as long as she stayed here! And
pans--all these pans? What was a separator, anyway? She wished flatly
to refuse, but the words stuck in her throat. There was something
about Aunt Jessica that you couldn't say no to. Aunt Jessica so
palpably expected you to be delighted. She was discriminating, too.
She had recognized at once that Elliott was not an ordinary girl.
But--but--

It was all so disconcerting that self-possessed Elliott stammered. She
stammered from pure surprise and chagrin and a confusing mixture of
emotions, but what she stammered was in answer to Aunt Jessica's tone
and extracted from her by the force of Aunt Jessica's personality. The
words came out in spite of herself.

"Oh--oh, thank you," she said, a bit blankly. Then she blushed with
confusion. How awkward she had been. Oughtn't Aunt Jessica to have
thanked her?

If Aunt Jessica noticed either the confusion or the blankness, she
gave no sign.

"That will be fine!" she said heartily. "I saw by the way you handled
those pans that I could depend on you."

Insensibly Elliott's chin lifted. She regarded the pans with new
interest. "Of course," she assented, "one has to be particular."

"Very particular," said Aunt Jessica, and her dark eyes smiled on the
girl.

The words, as she spoke them, sounded like a compliment. It mightn't
be so bad, Elliott reflected, to wash milk-pans every morning. And in
Rome you do as the Romans do. She watched closely while Aunt Jessica
washed the separator. She could easily do that, she was sure. It did
not seem to require any unusual skill or strength or brain-power.

"It is not hard work," said Aunt Jessica, pleasantly. "But so many
girls aren't dependable. I couldn't count on them to make everything
clean. Sometimes I think just plain dependableness is the most
delightful trait in the world. It's so rare, you know."

Elliott opened