ily. But the Salisbury family began
that night to speak of Justine as the "Treasure."

"Everything hot and well seasoned and nicely served," said the man of
the house in high satisfaction, "and the woman looks like a servant,
and acts like one. Sandy says she's turning the kitchen upside down,
but, I say, give her her head!"

The Treasure, more by accident than design, was indeed given her head
in the weeks that followed, for Mrs. Salisbury steadily declined into a
real illness, and the worried family was only too glad to delegate all
the domestic problems to Justine. The invalid's condition, from
"nervous breakdown" became "nervous prostration," and August was made
terrible for the loving little group that watched her by the cruel
fight with typhoid fever into which Mrs. Salisbury's exhausted little
body was drawn. Weak as she was physically, her spirit never failed
her; she met the overwhelming charges bravely, rallied, sank, rallied
again and lived. Alexandra grew thin, if prettier than ever, and Owen
Sargent grew bold and big and protecting to meet her need. The boys
were "angels," their sister said, helpful, awed and obedient, but the
children's father began to stoop a little and to show gray in the thick
black hair at his temples.

Soberly, sympathetically, Justine steered her own craft through all the
storm and confusion of the domestic crisis. Trays appeared and
disappeared without apparent effort. Hot and delicious meals were ready
at the appointed hours, whether the pulse upstairs went up or down.
Tradespeople were paid; there was always ice; there was always hot
water. The muffled telephone never went unanswered, the doctor never
had to ring twice for admittance. If fruit was sent up to the invalid,
it was icy cold; if soup was needed, it appeared, smoking hot, and
guiltless of even one floating pinpoint of fat.

Alexandra and the trained nurse always found the kitchen the same:
orderly, aired, silent, with Justine, a picture of domestic efficiency,
sitting by the open window, or on the shady side porch, shelling peas
or peeling apples, or perhaps wiping immaculate glasses with an
immaculate cloth at the sink. The ticking clock, the shining range, the
sunlight lying in clean-cut oblongs upon the bright linoleum, Justine's
smoothly braided hair and crisp percales, all helped to form a picture
wonderfully restful and reassuring in troubled days.

Alexandra, tired with a long vigil in the sick room, liked t