He found the house empty and the beds unmade.
The remains of breakfast stood on the kitchen-table, and a puddle of cold
tea decorated the floor. The arrival of the children from school, hungry
and eager, completed his discomfiture.

For several days he wrestled grimly with the situation, while Mrs.
Porter, who had planned out her week into four days of charing, two of
amusement, and Sunday in bed, looked on with smiling approval. She even
offered to give him a little instruction--verbal--in scrubbing the
kitchen-floor.

Mr. Porter, who was on his knees at the time, rose slowly to his full
height, and, with a superb gesture, emptied the bucket, which also
contained a scrubbing-brush and lump of soap, into the back-yard. Then
he set off down the street in quest of a staff.

He found it in the person of Maudie Stevens, aged fourteen, who lived a
few doors lower down. Fresh from school the week before, she cheerfully
undertook to do the housework and cooking, and to act as nursemaid in her
spare time. Her father, on his part, cheerfully under-took to take care
of her wages for her, the first week's, payable in advance, being banked
the same evening at the Lord Nelson.

It was another mouth to feed, but the strike-pay was coming in very well,
and Mr. Porter, relieved from his unmanly tasks, walked the streets a
free man. Beds were made without his interference, meals were ready
(roughly) at the appointed hour, and for the first time since the strike
he experienced satisfaction in finding fault with the cook. The
children's content was not so great, Maudie possessing a faith in the
virtues of soap and water that they made no attempt to share. They were
greatly relieved when their mother returned home after spending a couple
of days with Aunt Jane.

"What's all this?" she demanded, as she entered the kitchen, followed by
a lady-friend.

"What's all what?" inquired Mr. Porter, who was sitting at dinner with
the family.

"That," said his wife, pointing at the cook-general.

Mr. Porter put down his knife and fork. "Got 'er in to help," he
replied, uneasily.

"Do you hear that?" demanded his wife, turning to her friend, Mrs.
Gorman. "Oh, these masters!"

"Ah!" said her friend, vaguely.

"A strike-breaker!" said Mrs. Porter, rolling her eyes.

"Shame!" said Mrs. Gorman, beginning to understand.

"Coming after my job, and taking the bread out of my mouth," continued
Mrs. Porter, fluently. "Underselling