a little greenness is
essential to happiness," Mrs. Morrison declared.

The cosey kitchen was presided over by Zenobia Jackson, who exactly
suited her surroundings, being small and neat and quick, combining in a
most satisfactory way the duties of a parlor maid and cook.

She was a friend of Wilson's, to whom Mrs. Morrison had applied. When
asked if he knew any one she could get to do the work of their small
flat, he replied, "Yes, ma'm; I know a young girl who would suit you,
but she is going to school at present."

"If that is the case, she wouldn't suit at all," said Mrs. Morrison.

"Well, she's thinking of leaving school. Her ma she's sick, and her
pa's out of work, and their insurance is getting in the rear, so Zenobia
'lows she'll have to get a place."

"Can she cook?" asked Mrs. Morrison.

"Yes, ma'm; her ma's one of the best cooks in town."

"Her mother has taught her, then, I suppose."

"No, ma'm; the best ones ain't taught. It comes by nature, and Zenobia
is a naturalist." Wilson spoke with ministerial gravity.

Mrs. Morrison smiled. "I'd like to have her come to see me," she said.

Wilson promised to let her know, and added, "If you take her, Mrs.
Morrison, she'll do her best, and angels can't do any better."

The result was that a few days later Zenobia was installed and proved
herself worthy of her recommendation.

"She does beautifully," Mrs. Morrison wrote to her husband, "and while I
am not in a position to assert that angels couldn't do better, I am
inclined to believe it."

"Frances, I wish we knew those girls upstairs. I meet them so often in
the hall. One of them--Miss Moore, I think she is--is exceedingly
pretty." Mrs. Morrison was washing the glossy leaves of the rubber
plant.

"I know them," her daughter replied, as she carefully measured the long
bud that was about to open. "The pretty one is Miss Sherwin," she
added. "I know, because when Emma and I went up to their room with a
package that had been left downstairs by mistake, Miss Moore opened the
door, and I heard her say, 'Here is your dress, Lillian.'"

"I can't see how that proves anything. How did you know that the one who
opened the door was Miss Moore?"

Frances thought for a moment, "I know now! The package had Miss
Sherwin's name on it. Doesn't that prove it?"

"Perhaps it does, Wink, though it seems something of a puzzle," replied
her mother. "At any rate, I wish I knew them. I must remember to ask Mr.
Clark abou