you I wouldn't have
left you." Thus the troubled waters were calmed.

The crucial test of her qualities came when I entered upon a long
period of exhaustive effort. The first day, we both had a hard time,
as her highly specialised Baptist conscience would not permit her to
say I was "not at home," when I was merely writing a book. After she
thoroughly understood that I was not to be disturbed unless the house
took fire, further quiet being insured by disconnecting the doorbell
and muffling the telephone, things went swimmingly.

"Annie," I said, "I want you to run this house until I get through
with my book. Here is a hundred dollars to start with. Don't let
anybody disturb me." She took it with a smile, and a cheerful "all
right."

From that moment to the end, I had even less care than I should have
had in a well-equipped hotel. Not a sound penetrated my solitude. If
I went out for a drink of water, she did not speak to me. We had
delicious dinners and dainty breakfasts which might have waited for
us, but we never waited a moment for them. She paid herself regularly
every Monday morning, kept all receipts, sent out my husband's
laundry, kept a strict list of it, mended our clothes, managed our
household as economically as I myself could have done it, and, best of
all, insured me from any sort of interruption with a sort of fierce
loyalty which is beyond any money value.

Once I overheard a colloquy at my front door, which was briefly and
decisively terminated thus: "Ay already tell you dat you _not see
her_! She says to me, 'Annie, you keep dose peoples off from me,' and
Ay _keep dem off_!" I never have known what dear friend was thus
turned away from my inhospitable door.

Fully appreciating my blessings, the night I finished my work I went
into the kitchen with a crisp, new, five-dollar bill. "Annie," I said,
"here is a little extra money for you. You've been so nice about the
house while I've been busy."

She opened her eyes wide, and stared. "You don't have to do dat," she
said.

"I know I don't," I laughed, "but I like to do it."

"You don't have to do dat," she repeated. "Ay like to do de
housekeeping."

"I know," I said again, "and I like to do this. You've done lots of
things for me you didn't have to do. Why shouldn't I do something for
you?"

At that she took it, offering me a rough wet hand, which I took
gravely. "Tank you," she said, and the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"You've earned it,