en the "girl's room," opening
into the passage where the kitchen stairs came up, and the passage
itself was fair-sized and square, corresponding to the depth of the
other divisions. Here we had a great box placed for wood, and a barrel
for coal, and another for kindlings; once a week these could be
replenished as required, when the man came who "chored" for us. The
"girl's room" would be a spare place that we should find twenty uses
for; it was nice to think of it sweet and fresh, empty and available;
very nice not to be afraid to remember it was there at all.

We had a Robinson-Crusoe-like pleasure in making all these
arrangements; every clean thing that we put in a spotless place upon
shelf or nail was a wealth and a comfort to us. Besides, we really did
not need half the lumber of a common kitchen closet; a china bowl or
plate would no longer be contraband of war, and Barbara said she could
stir her blanc-mange with a silver spoon without demoralizing anybody
to the extent of having the ashes taken up with it.

By Friday night we had got everything to the exact and perfect
starting-point; and Mrs. Dunikin went home enriched with gifts that
were to her like a tin-and-wooden wedding; we felt, on our part, that
we had celebrated ours by clearing them out.

The bread-box was sweet and empty; the fragments had been all daintily
crumbled by Ruth, as she sat, resting and talking, when she had come
in from her music-lesson; they lay heaped up like lightly fallen snow,
in a broad dish, ready to be browned for chicken dressing or boiled
for brewis or a pudding. Mother never has anything between loaves and
crumbs when _she_ manages; then all is nice, and keeps nice.

"Clean beginnings are beautiful," said Rosamond, looking around. "It
is the middle that's horrid."

"We won't have any middles," said Ruth. "We'll keep making clean
beginnings, all the way along. That is the difference between work and
muss."

"If you can," said Rose, doubtfully.

I suppose that is what some people will say, after this Holabird story
is printed so far. Then we just wish they could have seen mother make
a pudding or get a breakfast, that is all. A lady will no more make
a jumble or litter in doing such things than she would at her
dressing-table. It only needs an accustomed and delicate touch.

I will tell you something of how it was, I will take that Monday
morning--and Monday morning is as good, for badness, as you can
take--just after w