se and home, you know," the mistress would say, feeling as if she
were doing something contemptibly small. And, worsted, she would return
to her paper. "But I don't care, we cannot afford it!" Mrs. Salisbury
would say to herself, when Lizzie had gone, and very thoughtfully she
would write out a check payable to "cash." "I used to use up little
odds and ends so deliciously, years ago!" she sometimes reflected
disconsolately. "And Kane always says we never live as well now as we
did then! He always praised my dinners."

Nowadays Mr. Salisbury was not so well satisfied. Lizzie rang the
changes upon roasted and fried meats, boiled and creamed vegetables,
baked puddings and canned fruits contentedly enough. She made cup cake
and sponge cake, sponge cake and cup cake all the year round. Nothing
was ever changed, no unexpected flavor ever surprised the palates of
the Salisbury family. May brought strawberry shortcake, December
cottage puddings, cold beef always made a stew; creamed codfish was
never served without baked potatoes. The Salisbury table was a
duplicate of some millions of other tables, scattered the length and
breadth of the land.

"And still the bills go up!" fretted Mrs. Salisbury.

"Well, why don't you fire her, Sally?" her husband asked, as he had
asked of almost every maid they had ever had--of lazy Annies, and
untidy Selmas, and ignorant Katies. And, as always, Mrs. Salisbury
answered patiently:

"Oh, Kane, what's the use? It simply means my going to Miss Crosby's
again, and facing that awful row of them, and beginning that I have
three grown children, and no other help--"

"Mother, have you ever had a perfect maid?" Sandy had asked earnestly
years before. Her mother spent a moment in reflection, arresting the
hand with which she was polishing silver. Alexandra was only sixteen
then, and mother and daughter were bridging a gap when there was no
maid at all in the Salisbury kitchen.

"Well, there was Libby," the mother answered at length, "the colored
girl I had when you were born. She really was perfect, in a way. She
was a clean darky, and such a cook! Daddy talks still of her fried
chicken and blueberry pies! And she loved company, too. But, you see,
Grandma Salisbury was with us then, and she paid a little girl to look
after you, so Libby had really nothing but the kitchen and dining-room
to care for. Afterward, just before Fred came, she got lazy and ugly,
and I had to let her go. Canadian Annie w