large and friendly acquaintance. If she wore rubber
gloves about the rough work, she paid for them herself; and she washed
and ironed her simple and pretty costumes herself--with the result that
they stayed pretty for surprising periods.

She wrote letters long and loving, to Ross daily; to her mother twice a
week; and by the help of her sister's authority succeeded in maintaining
a fairly competent servant in her deserted place.

"Father was bound he wouldn't," her sister wrote her; "but I stood right
up to him, I can now I'm married!--and Gerald too--that he'd no right to
take it out of mother even if he was mad with you. He made a fuss about
your paying for the girl--but that was only showing off--_he_ couldn't
pay for her just now--that's certain. And she does very well--a
good strong girl, and quite devoted to mother." And then she scolded
furiously about her sister's "working out."

Diantha knew just how hard it was for her mother. She had faced all
sides of the question before deciding.

"Your mother misses you badly, of course," Ross wrote her. "I go in
as often as I can and cheer her up a bit. It's not just the work--she
misses you. By the way--so do I." He expressed his views on her new
employment.

Diantha used to cry over her letters quite often. But she would put them
away, dry her eyes, and work on at the plans she was maturing, with grim
courage. "It's hard on them now," she would say to herself. "Its hard
on me--some. But we'll all be better off because of it, and not only
us--but everybody!"

Meanwhile the happy and unhappy households of the fair town buzzed in
comment and grew green with envy.

In social circles and church circles and club circles, as also in
domestic circles, it was noised abroad that Mrs. Edgar Porne had "solved
the servant question." News of this marvel of efficiency and propriety
was discussed in every household, and not only so but in barber-shops
and other downtown meeting places mentioned. Servants gathered it at
dinner-tables; and Diantha, much amused, regathered it from her new
friends among the servants.

"Does she keep on just the same?" asked little Mrs. Ree of Mrs. Porne in
an awed whisper.

"Just the same if not better. I don't even order the meals now, unless I
want something especial. She keeps a calendar of what we've had to eat,
and what belongs to the time of year, prices and things. When I used
to ask her to suggest (one does, you know: it is so hard t