serious, Thaddeus,” said Bessie.
And Thaddeus became instantly serious. “They—they haven’t left us, have they?” he whispered, in an awe-struck tone.
“No. I—I thought I’d let them fight it out between themselves,” replied Bessie. “You see, Thaddeus, servants are queer, and do not like to have their differences settled by others than themselves. It’ll work out all right, if we let them alone.”
“I don’t know but that you are right,” said Thaddeus, after a few moments of thought. “They’re both sensible girls, and capable of fighting their own battles. Let’s have dinner. I’m hungry as a bear.”
It was half-past six o’clock, and the usual hour for dinner. At 8.10 dinner was served. The intervening time was consumed by Jane and Ellen endeavoring to settle their differences by the silent, sniffy method—that is, Jane would sniff, and Ellen would be silent; and then Ellen would sniff, and Jane would be silent. As for Thaddeus and Bessie, they were amused rather than angry to have the dear little broiled chicken Bessie had provided served on the large beef-platter; and when the pease came up in a cut-glass salad-dish, Thaddeus laughed outright, but Bessie’s eyes grew moist. It was too evident that Jane and Ellen were not on speaking terms, and there was strong need for some one to break the ice. Fortunately, Bessie’s mother called that evening, and some of her time was spent below-stairs. What she said there only Ellen and Jane knew, but it had its effect, and for two or three weeks the jewels worked almost as satisfactorily as did Norah, the new girl, and quite harmoniously.
“Bessie,” said Thaddeus, one night as they ate their supper, “does it occur to you that the roast is a little overdone to-night?”
“Yes, Teddy, it is very much overdone. I must speak to Ellen about it. She is a little careless about some things. I’ve told her several times that you like your beef rare.”
“Well, I’d tell her again. Constant dropping of water on its surface will wear away a stone, and I think, perhaps, the constant dropping of an idea on a cook’s head may wear away some of the thickest parts of that—at least, until it is worn thin enough for the idea to get through to where her brain ought to be. You might say to her, too, that for several nights past dinner has been cold.”
“I’ll speak to her in the morning,” was Bessie’s reply; and the dear little woman was true to her purpose.
“She explained about the beef and the cold dinner, Ted,” she said, when Thaddeus came home that afternoon.
“Satisfactorily to all hands, I hope?” said Thaddeus, with his usual smile.
“Yes, perfectly. In fact, I wonder we hadn’t thought of it ourselves. In the old home, you know, the dinner-hour was six o’clock, while here it is half-past six.”
“What has that got to do with it?” asked Thaddeus.
“How obtuse of you, Teddy!” exclaimed Bessie. “Don’t you see, the poor old thing has been so used to six-o’clock dinners that she has everything ready for us at six? And if we are half an hour late, of course things get cold; or if they are kept in the oven, as was the case with the beef last night, they are apt to be overdone?”
“Why, of course. Ha! Ha! Wonder I didn’t think of that,” laughed Thaddeus, though his mirth did seem a little forced. “But—she’s—she’s going to change, I suppose?”
“She said she’d try,” Bessie replied. “She was really so very nice about it, I hadn’t the heart to scold her.”
“I’m glad,” was all Thaddeus said, and during the rest of the meal he was silent. Once or twice he seemed on the verge of saying something, but apparently changed his mind.
“Are you tired to-night, dear?” said Bessie, as the dessert was served.
“No. Why?” said Thaddeus, shortly.
“Oh, nothing. I thought you seemed a little so,” Bessie answered. “You mustn’t work too hard down-town.”
“No, my dear girl,” he said. “I won’t, and I don’t. I was thinking all through dinner about those girls down-stairs. Perhaps—perhaps I had better talk to them, eh? You are so awfully kind-hearted, and it does seem to me as though they imposed a little on you, that’s all. The salad to-night was atrocious. It should have been kept on the ice, instead of which it comes to the table looking like a last year’s bouquet.”
Bessie’s eyes grew watery. “I’m afraid it was my fault,” she said. “I ought to have looked after the salad myself. I always did at home. I suppose Jane got it out expecting me to prepare it.”
“Oh, well, never mind,” said Thaddeus, desirous of soothing the troubled soul of his wife. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it, only Jane does too much thinking, in a thoughtless way, anyhow. Servants aren’t paid to think.”
“I’ll tell you what, Thaddeus,” said Bessie, her spirits returning, “we are just as much to blame as they are; we’ve taken too much for granted, and so have they. Suppose we spend the evening putting together a set of rules for the management of the house? It will be lots of fun, and perhaps it will do the girls good. They ought to understand that while our parents have had their ways—and reasonable ways—there is no reason why we should not have our ways.”
“In other words,” said Thaddeus, “what we want to draw up is a sort of Declaration of Independence.”
“That’s it, exactly,” Bessie replied.
“Better get a slate and write them on that,” suggested Thaddeus, with a broad grin. “Then we can rub out whatever Jane and Ellen don’t like.”
“I hate you when you are sarcastic,” said Bessie, with a pout, and then she ran for her pad and pencil.
The evening was passed as she had suggested, and when they retired that night the house of Perkins was provided with a constitution and by-laws.
“I don’t suppose I shall recognize my surroundings when I get back home to-night,” said Thaddeus, when he waked up in the morning.
“Why not?” asked Bessie. “What strange transformation is there to be?”
“The discipline will be so strict,” answered Thaddeus. “I presume you will put those rules of ours into operation right away?”
“I have been thinking about that,” said Bessie, after a moment. “You see, Thad, there are a great many things about running a house that neither you nor I are familiar with yet, and it seems to me that maybe we’d better wait a little while before we impose these rules on the girls; it would be awkward to have to make changes afterwards, you know.”
“There is something in that,” said Thaddeus; “but, after all, not so much as you seem to think. All rules have exceptions. I’ve no doubt that the cook will take exception to most of them.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, and as she’s so old I kind of feel as if I ought to respect her feelings a little more than we would Norah’s, for instance. I can just tell you I shall make Norah stand around.”
“I think it would be a good plan if you did,” said Thaddeus. “I’m afraid Norah will die if you don’t. She works too hard to be a real servant—real servants stand around so much, you know.”
“Don’t be flippant, Thaddeus. This is a very serious matter. Norah is a good girl, as you say. She works so much and so quickly that she really makes me tired, and I’m constantly oppressed with the thought that she may get through with whatever she is doing before I can think of something else to occupy her time. But with her we need have none of the feeling that we have with Jane and Ellen. She is young, and susceptible to new impressions. She can fall in with new rules, while the other two might chafe under them. Now, I say we wait until we find out if we cannot let well enough alone, and not raise discord in our home.”
“There