d known, she settled down in it, of
course with sundry hitches of adjustment. For instance, she could not
rid herself at first of the conviction that she must have, as she had
always had, a maid.

"I don't know how to go to work," she said to Sylvia one day. "Of
course I must have a maid, but I wonder if I had better advertise or
write some of my friends. Betty Morrison may know of some one, or
Sally Maclean. Betty and Sally always seem to be able to find ways
out of difficulties. Perhaps I had better write them. Maybe it would
be safer than to advertise."

Sylvia and Rose were sitting together in the south room that
afternoon. Sylvia looked pathetically and wistfully at the girl.
"What do you want a maid for?" she asked, timidly.

Rose stared. "What for? Why, what I always want a maid for: to attend
to my wardrobe and assist me in dressing, to brush my hair,
and--everything," ended Rose, comprehensively.

Sylvia continued to regard her with that wistful, pathetic look.

"I can sew braid on your dresses, and darn your stockings, and button
up your dresses, and brush your hair, too, just as well as anybody,"
she said.

Rose ran over to her and went down on her knees beside her. "You
dear," she said, "as if you didn't have enough to do now!"

"This is a very convenient house to do work in," said Sylvia, "and
now I have my washing and ironing done, I've got time on my hands. I
like to sew braid on and darn stockings, and always did, and it's
nothing at all to fasten up your waists in the back; you know that."

"You dear," said Rose again. She nestled her fair head against
Sylvia's slim knees. Sylvia thrilled. She touched the soft puff of
blond hair timidly with her bony fingers. "But I have always had a
maid," Rose persisted, in a somewhat puzzled way. Rose could hardly
conceive of continued existence without a maid. She had managed very
well for a few days, but to contemplate life without one altogether
seemed like contemplating the possibility of living without a comb
and hair-brush. Sylvia's face took on a crafty expression.

"Well," said she, "if you must have a maid, write your friends, and I
will have another leaf put in the dining-table."

Rose raised her head and stared at her. "Another leaf in the
dining-table?" said she, vaguely.

"Yes. I don't think there's room for more than four without another
leaf."

"But--my maid would not eat at the table with us."

"Would she be willing to eat in the kitc