boys' school suits, calls that
must be made, friends who must be entertained, and the opening
festivities of several clubs to which she belonged.

She found things running very smoothly downstairs, there seemed to be
not even the tiniest flaw for a critical mistress to detect, and the
children had added a bewildering number of new names to their lists of
favorite dishes. Justine was asked over and over again for her Manila
curry, her beef and kidney pie, her scones and German fruit tarts, and
for a brown and crisp and savory dish in which the mistress of the
house recognized, under the title of chou farci, an ordinary cabbage as
a foundation.

"Oh, let's not have just chickens or beef," Sandy would plead when a
company dinner was under discussion. "Let's have one of Justine's fussy
dishes. Leave it to Justine!"

For the Treasure obviously enjoyed company dinner parties, and it was
fascinating to Sandy to see how methodically, and with what delightful
leisure, she prepared for them. Two or three days beforehand her
cake-making, silver-polishing, sweeping and cleaning were well under
way, and the day of the event itself was no busier than any other day.

Yet it was on one of these occasions that Mrs. Salisbury first had what
she felt was good reason to criticize Justine. During a brief absence
from home of both boys, their mother planned a rather formal dinner.
Four of her closest friends, two couples, were asked, and Owen Sargent
was invited by Sandy to make the group an even eight. This was as many
as the family table accommodated comfortably, and seemed quite an
event. Ordinarily the mistress of the house would have been fussing for
some days beforehand, in her anxiety to have everything go well, but
now, with Justine's brain and Justine's hands in command of the kitchen
end of affairs, she went to the other extreme, and did not give her own
and Sandy's share of the preparations a thought until the actual day of
the dinner.

For, as was stipulated in her bond, except for a general cleaning once
a week, the Treasure did no work downstairs outside of the dining-room
and kitchen, and made no beds at any time. This meant that the daughter
of the house must spend at least an hour every morning in bed-making,
and perhaps another fifteen minutes in that mysteriously absorbing
business known as "straightening" the living room. Usually Sandy was
very faithful to these duties; more, she whisked through them
cheerfully, in