of plans. Mrs. Salisbury did almost all of the cooking herself, fussing
for hours in the hot kitchen over the cold meats and salads and ices
that formed the little informal cold suppers to which the Salisburys
loved to ask their friends on Saturday and Sunday nights.

Alexandra helped fitfully. She would put her pretty head into the
kitchen doorway, perhaps to find her mother icing cake.

"Listen, Mother; I'm going over to Con's. She's got that new serve down
to a fine point! And I've done the boys' room and the guest room; it's
all ready for the Cutters. And I put towels and soap in the bathroom,
only you'll have to have Marthe wipe up the floor and the tub."

"You're a darling child," the mother would say gratefully.

"Darling nothing!" And Sandy, with her protest, would lay a cool cheek
against her mother's hot one. "Do you have to stay out here, Mother?"
she would ask resentfully. "Can't the Culled Lady do this?"

"Well, I left her to watch it, and it burned," Mrs. Salisbury would
say, "so now it has to be pared and frosted. Such a bother! But this is
the very last thing, dear. You run along; I'll be out of here in two
minutes!"

But it was always something more than two minutes. Sometimes even Kane
Salisbury was led to protest.

"Can't we eat less, dear? Or differently? Isn't there some simple way
of managing this week-end supper business? Now, Brewer--Brewer manages
it awfully well. He has his man set out a big cold roast or two,
cheese, and coffee, and a bowlful of salad, and beer. He'll get a fruit
pie from the club sometimes, or pastries, or a pot of marmalade--"

"Yes, indeed, we must try to simplify," Mrs. Salisbury would agree
brightly. But after such a conversation as this she would go over her
accounts very soberly indeed. "Roasts--cheeses--fruit pies!" she would
say bitterly to herself. "Why is it that a man will spend as much on a
single lunch for his friends as a woman is supposed to spend on her
table for a whole week, and then ask her what on earth she has done
with her money!"

"Kane, I wish you would go over my accounts," she said one evening, in
desperation. "Just suggest where you would cut down!"

Mr. Salisbury ran his eye carelessly over the pages of the little
ledger.

"Roast beef, two-forty?" he presently read aloud, questioningly.

"Twenty-two cents a pound," his wife answered simply. But the man's
slight frown deepened.

"Too much--too much!" he said, shaking his head.

Mrs.