CHAPTER X

UNION HOUSE.

"We are weak!" said the Sticks, and men broke them;

"We are weak!" said the Threads, and were torn;

Till new thoughts came and they spoke them;

Till the Fagot and the Rope were born.

For the Fagot men find is resistant,

And they anchor on the Rope's taut length;

Even grasshoppers combined,

Are a force, the farmers find--

In union there is strength.

Ross Warden endured his grocery business; strove with it, toiled at it,

concentrated his scientific mind on alien tasks of financial calculation

and practical psychology, but he liked it no better. He had no interest

in business, no desire to make money, no skill in salesmanship.

But there were five mouths at home; sweet affectionate feminine mouths

no doubt, but requiring food. Also two in the kitchen, wider, and

requiring more food. And there were five backs at home to be covered,

to use the absurd metaphor--as if all one needed for clothing was a four

foot patch. The amount and quality of the covering was an unceasing

surprise to Ross, and he did not do justice to the fact that his

womenfolk really saved a good deal by doing their own sewing.

In his heart he longed always to be free of the whole hated load of

tradesmanship. Continually his thoughts went back to the hope of

selling out the business and buying a ranch.

"I could make it keep us, anyhow," he would plan to himself; "and I

could get at that guinea pig idea. Or maybe hens would do." He had a

theory of his own, or a personal test of his own, rather, which he

wished to apply to a well known theory. It would take some years to

work it out, and a great many fine pigs, and be of no possible value

financially. "I'll do it sometime," he always concluded; which was cold

comfort.

His real grief at losing the companionship of the girl he loved, was

made more bitter by a total lack of sympathy with her aims, even if she

achieved them--in which he had no confidence. He had no power to change

his course, and tried not to be unpleasant about it, but he had to

express his feelings now and then.

"Are you coming back to me?" he wrote. "How con you bear to give so

much pain to everyone who loves you? Is your wonderful salary worth

more to you than being here with your mother--with me? How can you say

you love me--and ruin both our lives like this? I cannot come to see

you--I _would_ not come to see you--calling at the back door! Finding

the girl I love in a cap and apron! Can you not see it is wrong,

utterly wrong, all this mad escapade of yours? Suppose you do make a

thousand dollars a year--I shall never touch your money--you know that.

I cannot even offer you a home, except with my family, and I know how

you feel about that; I do not blame you.

"But I am as stubborn as you are, dear girl; I will not live on my

wife's money--you will not live in my mother's house--and we are

drifting apart. It is not that I care less for you dear, or at all for

anyone else, but this is slow death--that's all."

Mrs. Warden wrote now and then and expatiated on the sufferings of her

son, and his failing strength under the unnatural strain, till Diantha

grew to dread her letters more than any pain she knew. Fortunately they

came seldom.

Her own family was much impressed by the thousand dollars, and found the

occupation of housekeeper a long way more tolerable than that of

house-maid, a distinction which made Diantha smile rather bitterly.

Even her father wrote to her once, suggesting that if she chose to

invest her salary according to his advice he could double it for her in

a year, maybe treble it, in Belgian hares.

_"They'd_ double and treble fast enough!" she admitted to herself; but

she wrote as pleasant a letter as she could, declining his proposition.

Her mother seemed stronger, and became more sympathetic as the months

passed. Large affairs always appealed to her more than small ones, and

she offered valuable suggestions as to the account keeping of the big

house. They all assumed that she was permanently settled in this well

paid position, and she made no confidences. But all summer long she

planned and read and studied out her progressive schemes, and

strengthened her hold among the working women.

Laundress after laundress she studied personally and tested

professionally, finding a general level of mediocrity, till finally she

hit upon a melancholy Dane--a big rawboned red-faced woman--whose

husband had been a miller, but was hurt about the head so that he was no

longer able to earn his living. The huge fellow was docile, quiet, and

endlessly strong, but needed constant supervision.

"He'll do anything you tell him, Miss, and do it well; but then he'll

sit and dream about it--I can't leave him at all. But he'll take the

clothes if I give him a paper with directions, and come right back."

Poor Mrs. Thorald wiped her eyes, and went on with her swift ironing.

Diantha offered her the position of laundress at Union House, with two

rooms for their own, over the laundry. "There'll be work for him, too,"

she said. "We need a man there. He can do a deal of the heavier

work--be porter you know. I can't offer him very much, but it will help

some."

Mrs. Thorald accepted for both, and considered Diantha as a special

providence.

There was to be cook, and two capable second maids. The work of the

house must be done thoroughly well, Diantha determined; "and the food's

got to be good--or the girls wont stay." After much consideration she

selected one Julianna, a "person of color," for her kitchen: not the

jovial and sloppy personage usually figuring in this character, but a

tall, angular, and somewhat cynical woman, a misanthrope in fact, with a

small son. For men she had no respect whatever, but conceded a grudging

admiration to Mr. Thorald as "the usefullest biddablest male person" she

had ever seen. She also extended special sympathy to Mrs. Thorald on

account of her peculiar burden, and the Swedish woman had no antipathy

to her color, and seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in Julianna's

caustic speeches.

Diantha offered her the place, boy and all. "He can be 'bell boy' and

help you in the kitchen, too. Can't you, Hector?" Hector rolled large

adoring eyes at her, but said nothing. His mother accepted the

proposition, but without enthusiasm. "I can't keep no eye on him, Miss,

if I'm cookin' an less'n you keep your eye on him they's no work to be

got out'n any kind o' boy."

"What is your last name, Julianna?" Diantha asked her.

"I suppose, as a matter o' fac' its de name of de last nigger I

married," she replied. "Dere was several of 'em, all havin' different

names, and to tell you de truf Mis' Bell, I got clean mixed amongst 'em.

But Julianna's my name--world without end amen."

So Diantha had to waive her theories about the surnames of servants in

this case.

"Did they all die?" she asked with polite sympathy.

"No'm, dey didn't none of 'em die--worse luck."

"I'm afraid you have seen much trouble, Julianna," she continued

sympathetically; "They deserted you, I suppose?"

Julianna laid her long spoon upon the table and stood up with great

gravity. "No'm," she said again, "dey didn't none of 'em desert me on

no occasion. I divorced 'em."

Marital difficulties in bulk were beyond Diantha's comprehension, and

she dropped the subject.

Union House opened in the autumn. The vanished pepper trees were dim

with dust in Orchardina streets as the long rainless summer drew to a

close; but the social atmosphere fairly sparkled with new interest.

Those who had not been away chattered eagerly with those who had, and

both with the incoming tide of winter visitors.

"That girl of Mrs. Porne's has started her housekeeping shop!"

"That 'Miss Bell' has got Mrs. Weatherstone fairly infatuated with her

crazy schemes."

"Do you know that Bell girl has actually taken Union House? Going to

make a Girl's Club of it!"

"Did you ever _hear_ of such a thing! Diantha Bell's really going to

try to run her absurd undertaking right here in Orchardina!"

They did not know that the young captain of industry had deliberately

chosen Orchardina as her starting point on account of the special

conditions. The even climate was favorable to "going out by the day,"

or the delivery of meals, the number of wealthy residents gave

opportunity for catering on a large scale; the crowding tourists and

health seekers made a market for all manner of transient service and

cooked food, and the constant lack of sufficient or capable servants

forced the people into an unwilling consideration of any plan of

domestic assistance.

In a year's deliberate effort Diantha had acquainted herself with the

rank and file of the town's housemaids and day workers, and picked her

assistants carefully. She had studied the local conditions thoroughly,

and knew her ground. A big faded building that used to be "the Hotel'

in Orchardina's infant days, standing, awkward and dingy on a site too

valuable for a house lot and not yet saleable as a business block, was

the working base.

A half year with Mrs. Weatherstone gave her $500 in cash, besides the

$100 she had saved at Mrs. Porne's; and Mrs. Weatherstone's cheerfully

offered backing gave her credit.

"I hate to let you," said Diantha, "I want to do it all myself."

"You are a painfully perfect person, Miss Bell," said her last employer,

pleasantly, "but you have ceased to be my housekeeper and I hope you

will continue to be my friend. As a friend I claim the privilege of

being disagreeable. If you have a fault it is conceit. Immovable

Colossal Conceit! And Obstinacy!"

"Is that all?" asked Diantha.

"It's all I've found--so far," gaily retorted Mrs. Weatherstone. "Don't

you see, child, that you can't afford to wait? You have reasons for

hastening, you know. I don't doubt you could, in a series of years,

work up this business all stark alone. I have every confidence in those

qualities I have mentioned! But what's the use? You'll need credit for

groceries and furniture. I am profoundly interested in this business.

I am more than willing to advance a little capital, or to ensure your

credit. A man would have sense enough to take me up at once."

"I believe you are right," Diantha reluctantly agreed. "And you shan't

lose by it!"

Her friends were acutely interested in her progress, and showed it in

practical ways. The New Woman's Club furnished five families of patrons

for the regular service of cooked food, which soon grew, with

satisfaction, to a dozen or so, varying from time to time. The many

families with invalids, and lonely invalids without families, were glad

to avail themselves of the special delicacies furnished at Union House.

Picnickers found it easier to buy Diantha's marvelous sandwiches than to

spend golden morning hours in putting up inferior ones at home; and many

who cooked for themselves, or kept servants, were glad to profit by this

outside source on Sunday evenings and "days out."

There was opposition too; both the natural resistance of inertia and

prejudice, and the active malignity of Mrs. Thaddler.

The Pornes were sympathetic and anxious.

"That place'll cost her all of $10,000 a year, with those twenty-five to

feed, and they only pay $4.50 a week--I know that!" said Mr. Porne.

"It does look impossible," his wife agreed, "but such is my faith in

Diantha Bell I'd back her against Rockefeller!"

Mrs. Weatherstone was not alarmed at all. "If she _should_ fail--which

I don't for a moment expect--it wont ruin me," she told Isabel. "And if

she succeeds, as I firmly believe she will, why, I'd be willing to risk

almost anything to prove Mrs. Thaddler in the wrong."

Mrs. Thaddler was making herself rather disagreeable. She used what

power she had to cry down the undertaking, and was so actively

malevolent that her husband was moved to covert opposition. He never

argued with his wife--she was easily ahead of him in that art, and, if

it came to recriminations, had certain controvertible charges to make

against him, which mode him angrily silent. He was convinced in a dim

way that her ruthless domineering spirit, and the sheer malice she often

showed, were more evil things than his own bad habits; and that even in

their domestic relation her behavior really caused him more pain and

discomfort than he caused her; but he could not convince her of it,

naturally.

"That Diantha Bell is a fine girl," he said to himself. "A damn fine

girl, and as straight as a string!"

There had crept out, through the quenchless leak of servants talk, a

varicolored version of the incident of Mathew and the transom; and the

town had grown so warm for that young gentleman that he had gone to

Alaska suddenly, to cool off, as it were. His Grandmother, finding Mrs.

Thaddler invincible with this new weapon, and what she had so long

regarded as her home now visibly Mrs. Weatherstone's, had retired in

regal dignity to her old Philadelphia establishment, where she upheld

the standard of decorum against the weakening habits of a deteriorated

world, for many years.

As Mr. Thaddler thought of this sweeping victory, he chuckled for the

hundredth time. "She ought to make good, and she will. Something's got

to be done about it," said he.

Diantha had never liked Mr. Thaddler; she did not like that kind of man

in general, nor his manner toward her in particular. Moreover he was

the husband of Mrs. Thaddler. She did not know that he was still the

largest owner in the town's best grocery store, and when that store

offered her special terms for her exclusive trade, she accepted the

proposition thankfully.

She told Ross about it, as a matter well within his knowledge, if not

his liking, and he was mildly interested. "I am much alarmed at this

new venture," he wrote, "but you must get your experience. I wish I

could save you. As to the groceries, those are wholesale rates, nearly;

they'll make enough on it. Yours is a large order you see, and steady."

When she opened her "Business Men's Lunch" Mr. Thaddler had a still

better opportunity. He had a reputation as a high flyer, and had really

intended to sacrifice himself on the altar of friendship by patronizing

and praising this "undertaking" at any cost to his palate; but no

sacrifice was needed.

Diantha's group of day workers had their early breakfast and departed,

taking each her neat lunch-pail,--they ate nothing of their

employers;--and both kitchen and dining room would have stood idle till

supper time. But the young manager knew she must work her plant for all

it was worth, and speedily opened the dining room with the side entrance

as a "Caffeteria," with the larger one as a sort of meeting place;

papers and magazines on the tables.

From the counter you took what you liked, and seated yourself, and your

friends, at one of the many small tables or in the flat-armed chairs in

the big room, or on the broad piazza; and as this gave good food,

cheapness, a chance for a comfortable seat and talk and a smoke, if one

had time, it was largely patronized.

Mr. Thaddler, as an experienced _bon vivant,_ despised sandwiches.

"Picnicky makeshifts" he called them,--"railroad rations"--"bread and

leavings," and when he saw these piles on piles of sandwiches, listed

only as "No. 1," "No. 2" "No. 3," and so on, his benevolent intention

wavered. But he pulled himself together and took a plateful, assorted.

"Come on, Porne," he said, "we'll play it's a Sunday school picnic," and

he drew himself a cup of coffee, finding hot milk, cream and sugar

crystals at hand. "I never saw a cheap joint where you could fix it

yourself, before," he said,--and suspiciously tasted the mixture.

"By jing! That's coffee!" he cried in surprise. "There's no scum on

the milk, and the cream's cream!" Five cents! She won't get rich on

this."

Then he applied himself to his "No. 1" sandwich, and his determined

expression gave way to one of pleasure. "Why that's bread--real bread!

I believe she made it herself!"

She did in truth,--she and Julianna with Hector as general assistant.

The big oven was filled several times every morning: the fresh rolls

disappeared at breakfast and supper, the fresh bread was packed in the

lunch pails, and the stale bread was even now melting away in large

bites behind the smiling mouths and mustaches of many men. Perfect

bread, excellent butter, and "What's the filling I'd like to know?"

More than one inquiring-minded patron split his sandwich to add sight to

taste, but few could be sure of the flavorsome contents, fatless,

gritless, smooth and even, covering the entire surface, the last

mouthful as perfect as the first. Some were familiar, some new, all

were delicious.

The six sandwiches were five cents, the cup of coffee five, and the

little "drop cakes," sweet and spicy, were two for five. Every man

spent fifteen cents, some of them more; and many took away small cakes

in paper bags, if there were any left.

"I don't see how you can do it, and make a profit," urged Mr. Eltwood,

making a pastorial call. "They are so good you know!"

Diantha smiled cheerfully. "That's because all your ideas are based on

what we call 'domestic economy,' which is domestic waste. I buy in

large quantities at wholesale rates, and my cook with her little helper,

the two maids, and my own share of the work, of course, provides for the

lot. Of course one has to know how."

"Whenever did you find--or did you create?--those heavenly sandwiches?"

he asked.

"I have to thank my laundress for part of that success," she said.

"She's a Dane, and it appears that the Danes are so fond of sandwiches

that, in large establishments, they have a 'sandwich kitchen' to prepare

them. It is quite a bit of work, but they are good and inexpensive.

There is no limit to the variety."

As a matter of fact this lunch business paid well, and led to larger

things.

The girl's methods were simple and so organized as to make one hand wash

the other. Her house had some twenty-odd bedrooms, full accommodations

for kitchen and laundry work on a large scale, big dining, dancing, and

reception rooms, and broad shady piazzas on the sides. Its position on

a corner near the business part of the little city, and at the foot of

the hill crowned with so many millionaires and near millionaires as

could get land there, offered many advantages, and every one was taken.

The main part of the undertaking was a House Worker's Union; a group of

thirty girls, picked and trained. These, previously working out as

servants, had received six dollars a week "and found." They now worked

an agreed number of hours, were paid on a basis by the hour or day, and

"found" themselves. Each had her own room, and the broad porches and

ball room were theirs, except when engaged for dances and meetings of

one sort and another.

It was a stirring year's work, hard but exciting, and the only

difficulty which really worried Diantha was the same that worried the

average housewife--the accounts.

"THE OUTER REEF!"

(A Picture by Paul Dougherty.)

Who dares paint daylight?

The bright white light of flaming noon?

No blur of shadow, mist or haze,

Just the whole unobstructed blaze

Of hot mid-June.

No screen of leafage;

The keen clean green of summer sea;

Dazzle of surf in mid-day light,

The very sound of the surges' fight,

Broad--open--free.

The earth all stillness,

Noon hush on the pastures' height;

Turf topped cliffs with faces bare,

Bones of the earth unveiled to air,

Heat--breakers--light.

OUR ANDROCENTRIC CULTURE; or, THE MAN~MADE WORLD

X.

LAW AND GOVERNMENT.

It is easy to assume that men are naturally the lawmakers and

law-enforcers, under the plain historic fact that they have been such

since the beginning of the patriarchate.

Back of law lies custom and tradition. Back of government lies the

correlative activity of any organized group. What group-insects and

group-animals evolve unconsciously and fulfill by their social

instincts, we evolve consciously and fulfill by arbitrary systems called

laws and governments. In this, as in all other fields of our action, we

must discriminate between the humanness of the function in process of

development, and the influence of the male or female upon it. Quite

apart from what they may like or dislike as sexes, from their differing

tastes and faculties, lies the much larger field of human progress, in

which they equally participate.

On this plane the evolution of law and government proceeds somewhat as

follows:--The early woman-centered group organized on maternal lines of

common love and service. The early combinations of men were first a

grouped predacity--organized hunting; then a grouped

belligerency,--organized warfare.

By special development some minds are able to perceive the need of

certain lines of conduct over others, and to make this clear to their

fellows; whereby, gradually, our higher social nature establishes rules

and precedents to which we personally agree to submit. The process of

social development is one of progressive co-ordination.

From independent individual action for individual ends, up to

interdependent social action for social ends we slowly move; the "devil"

in the play being the old Ego, which has to be harmonized with the new

social spirit. This social process, like all others, having been in

masculine hands, we may find in it the same marks of one-sided

Specialization so visible in our previous studies.

The coersive attitude is essentially male. In the ceaseless age-old

struggle of sex combat he developed the desire to overcome, which is

always stimulated by resistance; and in this later historic period of

his supremacy, he further developed the habit of dominance and mastery.

We may instance the contrast between the conduct of a man when "in love"

and while courting; in which period he falls into the natural position

of his sex towards the other--namely, that of a wooer; and his behavior

when, with marriage, they enter the, artificial relation of the master

male and servile female. His "instinct of dominance" does not assert

itself during the earlier period, which was a million times longer than

the latter; it only appears in the more modern and arbitrary relation.

Among other animals monogamous union is not accompanied by any such

discordant and unnatural features. However recent as this habit is when

considered biologically, it is as old as civilization when we consider

it historically: quite old enough to be a serious force. Under its

pressure we see the legal systems and forms of government slowly

evolving, the general human growth always heavily perverted by the

special masculine influence. First we find the mere force of custom

governing us, the _mores_ of the ancient people. Then comes the gradual

appearance of authority, from the purely natural leadership of the best

hunter or fighter up through the unnatural mastery of the patriarch,

owning and governing his wives, children, slaves and cattle, and making

such rules and regulations as pleased him.

Our laws as we support them now are slow, wasteful, cumbrous systems,

which require a special caste to interpret and another to enforce;

wherein the average citizen knows nothing of the law, and cares only to

evade it when he can, obey it when he must. In the household, that

stunted, crippled rudiment of the matriarchate, where alone we can find

what is left of the natural influence of woman, the laws and government,

so far as she is responsible for them, are fairly simple, and bear

visible relation to the common good, which relation is clearly and

persistently taught.

In the larger household of city and state the educational part of the

law is grievously neglected. It makes no allowance for ignorance. If a

man breaks a law of which he never heard he is not excused therefore;

the penalty rolls on just the same. Fancy a mother making solemn rules

and regulations for her family, telling the children nothing about them,

and then punishing them when they disobeyed the unknown laws!

The use of force is natural to the male; while as a human being he must

needs legislate somewhat in the interests of the community, as a male

being he sees no necessity for other enforcement than by penalty. To

violently oppose, to fight, to trample to the earth, to triumph in loud

bellowings of savage joy,--these are the primitive male instincts; and

the perfectly natural social instinct which leads to peaceful

persuasion, to education, to an easy harmony of action, are

contemptuously ranked as "feminine," or as "philanthropic,"--which is

almost as bad. "Men need stronger measures" they say proudly. Yes, but

four-fifths of the world are women and children!

As a matter of fact the woman, the mother, is the first co-ordinator,

legislator, administrator and executive. From the guarding and guidance

of her cubs and kittens up to the longer, larger management of human

youth, she is the first to consider group interests and co-relate them.

As a father the male grows to share in these original feminine

functions, and with us, fatherhood having become socialized while

motherhood has not, he does the best he can, alone, to do the world's

mother-work in his father way.

In study of any long established human custom it is very difficult to

see it clearly and dispassionately. Our minds are heavily loaded with

precedent, with race-custom, with the iron weight called authority.

These heavy forces reach their most perfect expression in the absolutely

masculine field of warfare. The absolute authority; the brainless,

voiceless obedience; the relentless penalty. Here we have male coercion

at its height; law and government wholly arbitrary. The result is as

might be expected, a fine machine of destruction. But destruction is

not a human process--merely a male process of eliminating the unfit.

The female process is to select the fit; her elimination is negative and

painless.

Greater than either is the human process, to _develop fitness._

Men are at present far more human than women. Alone upon their

self-seized thrones they have carried as best they might the burdens of

the state; and the history of law and government shows them as changing

slowly but irresistably in the direction of social improvement.

The ancient kings were the joyous apotheosis of masculinity. Power and

Pride were theirs; Limitless Display; Boundless Self-indulgence;

Irresistable Authority. Slaves and courtiers bowed before them,

subjects obeyed them, captive women filled their harems. But the day of

the masculine monarchy is passing, and the day of the human democracy is

coming in. In a Democracy Law and Government both change. Laws are no

longer imposed on the people by one above them, but are evolved from the

people themselves. How absurd that the people should not be educated in

the laws they make; that the trailing remnants of blind submission

should still becloud their minds and make them bow down patiently under

the absurd pressure of outgrown tradition!

Democratic government is no longer an exercise of arbitrary authority

from one above, but is an organization for public service of the people

themselves--or will be when it is really attained.

In this change government ceases to be compulsion, and becomes

agreement; law ceases to be authority and becomes co-ordination. When

we learn the rules of whist or chess we do not obey them because we fear

to be punished if we don't, but because we want to play the game. The

rules of human conduct are for our own happiness and service--any child

can see that. Every child will see it when laws are simplified, based

on sociology, and taught in schools. A child of ten should be

considered grossly uneducated who could not rewrite the main features of

the laws of his country, state, and city; and those laws should be so

simple in their principles that a child of ten could understand them.

Teacher: "What is a tax?"

Child: "A tax is the money we agree to pay to keep up our common

advantages."

Teacher: "Why do we all pay taxes?"

Child: "Because the country belongs to all of us, and we must all pay

our share to keep it up."

Teacher: "In what proportion do we pay taxes?"

Child: "In proportion to how much money we have." (_Sotto voce_: "Of

course!")

Teacher: "What is it to evade taxes?"

Child: "It is treason." (_Sotto voce_: "And a dirty mean trick.")

In masculine administration of the laws we may follow the instinctive

love of battle down through the custom of "trial by combat"--only

recently outgrown, to our present method, where each contending party

hires a champion to represent him, and these fight it out in a wordy

war, with tricks and devices of complex ingenuity, enjoying this kind of

struggle as they enjoy all other kinds.

It is the old masculine spirit of government as authority which is so

slow in adapting itself to the democratic idea of government as service.

That it should be a representative government they grasp, but

representative of what? of the common will, they say; the will of the

majority;--never thinking that it is the common good, the common

welfare, that government should represent.

It is the inextricable masculinity in our idea of government which so

revolts at the idea of women as voters. "To govern:" that means to

boss, to control, to have authority; and that only, to most minds. They

cannot bear to think of the woman as having control over even their own

affairs; to control is masculine, they assume. Seeing only

self-interest as a natural impulse, and the ruling powers of the state

as a sort of umpire, an authority to preserve the rules of the game

while men fight it out forever; they see in a democracy merely a wider

range of self interest, and a wider, freer field to fight in.

The law dictates the rules, the government enforces them, but the main

business of life, hitherto, has been esteemed as one long fierce

struggle; each man seeking for himself. To deliberately legislate for

the service of all the people, to use the government as the main engine

of that service, is a new process, wholly human, and difficult of

development under an androcentric culture.

Furthermore they put forth those naively androcentric protests,--women

cannot fight, and in case their laws were resisted by men they could not

enforce them,--_therefore_ they should not vote!

What they do not so plainly say, but very strongly think, is that women

should not share the loot which to their minds is so large a part of

politics.

Here we may trace clearly the social heredity of male government.

Fix clearly in your mind the first head-ship of man--the leader of the

pack as it were--the Chief Hunter. Then the second head-ship, the Chief

Fighter. Then the third head-ship, the Chief of the Family. Then the

long line of Chiefs and Captains, Warlords and Landlords, Rulers and

Kings.

The Hunter hunted for prey, and got it. The Fighter enriched himself

with the spoils of the vanquished. The Patriarch lived on the labor of

women and slaves. All down the ages, from frank piracy and robbery to

the measured toll of tribute, ransom and indemnity, we see the same

natural instinct of the hunter and fighter. In his hands the government

is a thing to sap and wreck, to live on. It is his essential impulse to

want something very much; to struggle and fight for it; to take all he

can get.

Set against this the giving love that comes with motherhood; the endless

service that comes of motherhood; the peaceful administration in the

interest of the family that comes of motherhood. We prate much of the

family as the unit of the state. If it is--why not run the state on

that basis? Government by women, so far as it is influenced by their

sex, would be influenced by motherhood; and that would mean care,

nurture, provision, education. We have to go far down the scale for any

instance of organized motherhood, but we do find it in the hymenoptera;

in the overflowing industry, prosperity, peace and loving service of the

ant-hill and bee-hive. These are the most highly socialized types of

life, next to ours, and they are feminine types.

We as human beings have a far higher form of association, with further

issues than mere wealth and propagation of the species. In this human

process we should never forget that men are far more advanced than

women, at present. Because of their humanness has come all the noble

growth of civilization, in spite of their maleness.

As human beings both male and female stand alike useful and honorable,

and should in our government be alike used and honored; but as creatures

of sex, the female is fitter than the male for administration of

constructive social interests. The change in governmental processes

which marks our times is a change in principle. Two great movements

convulse the world to-day, the woman's movement and the labor movement.

Each regards the other as of less moment than itself. Both are parts of

the same world-process.

We are entering upon a period of social consciousness. Whereas so far

almost all of us have seen life only as individuals, and have regarded

the growing strength and riches of the social body as merely so much the

more to fatten on; now we are beginning to take an intelligent interest

in our social nature, to understand it a little, and to begin to feel

the vast increase of happiness and power that comes of real Human Life.

In this change of systems a government which consisted only of

prohibition and commands; of tax collecting and making war; is rapidly

giving way to a system which intelligently manages our common interests,

which is a growing and improving method of universal service. Here the

socialist is perfectly right in his vision of the economic welfare to be

assured by the socialization of industry, though that is but part of the

new development; and the individualist who opposes socialism, crying

loudly for the advantage of "free competition" is but voicing the spirit

of the predacious male.

So with the opposers to the suffrage of women. They represent, whether

men or women, the male viewpoint. They see the woman only as a female,

utterly absorbed in feminine functions, belittled and ignored as her

long tutelage has made her; and they see the man as he sees himself, the

sole master of human affairs for as long as we have historic record.

This, fortunately, is not long. We can now see back of the period of

his supremacy, and are beginning to see beyond it. We are well under

way already in a higher stage of social development, conscious,

well-organized, wisely managed, in which the laws shall be simple and

founded on constructive principles instead of being a set of

ring-regulations within which people may fight as they will; and in

which the government shall be recognized in its full use; not only the

sternly dominant father, and the wisely servicable mother, but the real

union of all people to sanely and economically manage their affairs.

COMMENT AND REVIEW

There is a fine article in the June Popular Science Monthly, by Dr.

Thomas W. Salmon on "Two Preventable Causes of Insanity."

He shows how much has been done by the popular recognition of cause and

effect in checking tuberculosis, malaria and yellow fever, and urges a

similar awakening in regard to insanity. At the close of 1908 there

were 30,456 patients in the public and private institutions for the

insane in New York State, about one in 280 of the general population of

the state, he says; and then gives the new admissions for that year as

5,301. Five thousand new lunatics a year is a good many.

Dr. Salmon then shows that of this number there were "664 cases of

general paralysis (dependant on syphilis) and 638 cases of alcoholic

psychoses (due to intemperance)," or _more than one-fourth of all first

admissions due to these two preventable causes._ There is a further

most interesting fact, that this general paralysis in men is nearly

three times as great in cities as in the country, and in women, twice as

great; while alcoholic psychosis in women is seven times as great in

cities.

Most striking of all is Dr. Salmon's showing that "_42 per cent. of all

male admissions from cities were for general paralysis and the alcoholic

psychoses._" As he justly remarks, "Where are 'the nervous tension of

the cities' and 'the mad rush of modern life,' of which we speak so

glibly, compared with syphilis and drunkenness as the real dangers of

city life?" But for these two causes the ratio of insanity would be

greater in the country, where, as is well known, the largest percentage

of women lunatics comes from the lonely farm house.

Further than this we are told that many other forms of lunacy are

indirectly due to syphilis and alcoholism, through parental

transmission.

Knowledge is power. Society is but just awakening to a conscious

knowledge of itself, its pains and pleasures, and its powers. One man

may not be strong enough to resist the influences which pull and push

him into these large hells, but when society as a whole,--or even women

as a half,--waken to a realization of all this needless suffering, this

dreadful waste, then we can prevent it.

*

The gentlemen of France are distressed about the birthrate. It appears

that the men of that country do not bear enough children to keep up the

population as they desire. Therefore serious measures are proposed "to

stimulate the birthrate." They are these:

Additional military service to be imposed on bachelors over twenty-nine.

Marriage to be made obligatory to gentlemen employed by the state, at

the age of twenty-five, with supplementary salaries and pension

allowances for more than three children.

The law requiring equal distribution of estates among children to be

repealed. The dislike of Frenchmen to dividing their property is a

frequent cause of restricted families, we are told.

We trust that the gentlemen of France, spurred and encouraged by these

incentives, will now produce more children than they have hitherto.

The New York _Times_, of Friday, June 24, gives an editorial to this

news from France,--and no wonder. But it is perfectly serious in its

treatment, and offers no criticism of the measures proposed. The writer

has apparently small know]edge of biology, for he expresses astonishment

that the miserably poor "increase prodigiously" in Russia and elsewhere.

"Who shall solve these mysteries or dogmatize upon them?" he says, and

speculates further, in a vaguely awe-stricken manner, on the subject,

quoting from the vigorous Mr. Roosevelt and the gloomy Dr. Koch.

Do any of our readers, belonging to the negligible side of this race

problem see anything to smile at? Let us parallel it:

There is dismay in the poultry yard over a grave falling off in the

supply of eggs. A convocation of roosters is called to discuss it, and

to take measures to remedy the condition. They propose (a) To make all

roosters over six months old do extra scratching for food. (b) To

enforce matrimony--or its gallinaceous equivalent--on all roosters

employed by the flock. (c) To alter the custom of dividing the worms

equally among the chicks.

The simile is strained, we admit: try to apply it to some other case, as

a shortage in the milk supply--considered by a convocation of bulls.

That seems rather absurd too. Can not some one suggest a parallel which

could be taken as seriously as the Times takes this effort on the part

of Frenchmen?

*

People in general, peaceably minding their own business, do not give

much thought to their subtler enemies. A burglar, creeping in through

the window, we can see and scream at; but a Public Poisoner, a whole

array of Public Poisoners, creeping through the Legislature, we do not

notice.

In the interests of the common good we have our National Health League,

working by means of the Owen Bill for a National Department of Health

which shall safeguard the people from disease and contamination as the

Bureau of Agriculture safeguards our cattle.

Against this measure, one of most needed social service, is rising an

organized opposition called the "League for Medical Freedom." This

association defends the free practice of healing by unorthodox methods,

but its opposition to the Owen Bill is wholly ignorant, if not worse.

The Owen Bill, in urging a National Department of Health, does not seek

to regulate the practice of medicine. Its work will be to maintain pure

food, pure drugs, pure streams, and to study human health and maintain

it as assiduously as we now study the health of swine and steers.

This sudden opposition, using great sums of money to advertise in the

newspapers, seems based on the big interests of the patent medicines and

other profitable health destroyers and life takers.

Our women, within their capacity as mothers and guardians of the home,

ought to inform themselves as to the work of the National Health League.

Write to the Committee of One Hundred, Drawer 45 New Haven, Conn.

*

How many of our readers know that superb magazine, _The Englishwoman?_*

As far as I have seen them it is by far the finest woman's publication

in the world. A big, handsome, dignified monthly; 120 pages in large

clear type, a joy to the eye; and paper, a joy to the hand; the magazine

is three-quarters of an inch thick to _The Century's_ half inch, and

weighs ten ounces to _The Century's_ 18. This is not only because there

are no pictures, but because of that specially light weight paper, so

much more used in England than with us.

Thus pleasing to the eye and to the hand, it gives to the mind a clear,

strong, varied presentation of the affairs of the world to-day as they

specially affect women. Excellent writers and plenty of them furnish

the material; it is good reading straight through.

My special satisfaction in this monthly is in its breadth of view. The

need of the ballot is strongly emphasized, and due record is kept of the

progress of the equal suffrage movement; but far more ground than that

is covered. Studies are given of the previous position of women, of her

place in different countries and classes, of her connection with the

other stirring questions of the day.

Reading this, we gather an increasing sense of the real world-issues of

which the woman's movement is not only in itself an interesting part,

but one in the solution of which is shown to be that of many others.

People who shrink from "feminism" in its more intense and accentuated

forms, will find here a more proportional treatment, enlightening and

persuasive.

*"The Englishwoman." Published by Sidgwick & Jackson, 3 Adam St.,

Adelphi. London, W. C. England. Monthly, 1s. Yearly, 14s. 6d. post

free.

*

_The Woman's Journal,_* so long our best exponent of the equal rights

movement in America, is now the official organ of the National American

Women suffrage association.

This is as it should be. The association needs an organ, and _The

Woman's Journal_ has always needed and desired a wider support than the

equal suffragists gave it.

*The Woman's Journal. Saturday weekly. $1.00 yearly, No. 585 Boylston

St., Boston, Mass.

It is the earnest wish of _The Forerunner_ that every American "equal

suffragist" take the _Woman's Journal,_ and so keep in touch with the

movement. It is now but _one dollar a year,_ which, for such a weekly,

is more than reasonable.

It is also the earnest wish of The Forerunner that every American

interested in the woman's movement the world over, and its English

status in particular, should take _The Englishwoman._ That costs

fourteen shillings a year, and is worth it.

And who is to take _The Forerunner?_ Only those who like it and find it

useful.

PERSONAL PROBLEMS

Problem 1st. A woman of thirty, single and intending so to remain,

owning a tiny cottage in the woods near a large city; exhausted by ten

years' overwork and having spent her savings on doctor's bills, asks two

questions:

(a) Why cannot she stay at home and enjoy it?

(b) Can one love a man too much? (There was a man, but he went away.)

To (a) the answer is: one cannot live at home, and earn one's living

without practicing some domestic industry. Of these two obvious and

common ones are:

Take in washing:--not strong enough.

Take in sewing?--How about that?

A large city ought to furnish sewing and mending enough to keep one

woman who owns a cottage. Five dollars a week ought to do it, including

carfare.

Then comes the more various tasks; to make some one thing excellently

well, and sell it: taking orders: making a little business of one's own.

The age of domestic industry is really past; but a lone woman with no

rent to pay ought to make good, unless too ill to work at all.

If there is any ground with the cottage she could raise some food

perhaps.

Third possibility: take another woman to board: or a child, if competent

to care for children.

As to the second question: Yes, one can; one often does. If by "loving"

one means "wanting." Love, pure love, strong giving love, does not

exhaust nor injure. One can love a lifetime, without return--if it's

that kind. But to hopelessly wish for what one cannot have is an

illness. If that is the case it is time for a decided change of heart.

The world is full of people to love and serve; and a brave rational

attitude of living ought to cure and strengthen.

Sister--sit quiet in the door of the little cottage: say "I am here to

serve; to work for the world. I am willing. My own life is

desolate--well? So are the lives of many. That I must bear. There are

many years before me to be lived through--bravely and lovingly. If I

die--that's no hardship; if I live I will do the work I'm here for."

Then study out your case with dispassionate interest; _as if it were

some one else's_; and do what is wise. When you are strong enough, if

you are willing to do housework (a job always waiting) for six months,

it should give you a clear $150.00, to live another six months without

care, and to practice the art you like best. Plan _ahead;_ bear what

you have now in the determined hope of what you like better in five

years--ten years--for the rest of life.

And so enlarge your range of consciousness, thinking, talking, reading

about big human interests, that your own trouble shrinks in proportion.

Problem 2d. "Several of my professors in the University have such a

condescending attitude toward women that most of us girls find it very

hard to do our best. In some classes, we are actually, as a sex, marked

lower than the men of the class. We have found in every instance that

the wives of these professors are of the lowest tabby-cat variety,

gossipy, infantile, at times malicious.

_Q._ (a) Can you believe that these trained men would be as illogical

as to judge us all by their wives?

_Q._ (b) Is there any way even to make a start to root out this idea

that all women are cast from the same mold,"--Studiosa.

_Ans._ (a) "Trained" men are not necessarily logical men. Logic in

some fields does not imply logic in all. No matter how logical or how

much trained, most men are illogical about women. (As are most women

also.)

_Ans._ (b) Yes. The way to start,--and finish--this idea that "all

women are cast from the same mold" is to prove that they are not by

being different. The likeness men see in women is the likeness of sex.

Show them the difference in human personality.

Problem 3d. "It is almost impossible for married women to go on

teaching. Just as I am at my best, my usefulness is nullified because I

am married. Would you please outline a plan of organization among

married women who wish to continue practicing their profession, thru

which they may arouse other women, and also reach the authorities who

have control over their work?"--_E. M. K._

_Ans._ The most suitable organization among married women, and single

ones as well, whereby to "arouse other women and reach the authorities"

is political organization. That question is easily answered--by

securing equal suffrage.

Problem 4th. "Several of us girls wish to associate with our men

friends as real comrades, paying our half of theatre tickets, suppers

and the like, as we have as much money, or as little, as they. They are

fine young men, decidedly worth while. Yet they make the most

astonishingly stupid objections, as do most of the other girls. It is

not 'polite' or 'customary,' it is a man's 'privilege,' etc., etc.

Could you not give us suggestions, perhaps in story form, of how to win

the young men, and other girls too, without being too sharp-angled, over

to our side?"--_College Girl._

_Ans._ I knew of a good arrangement between a man and a woman on this

basis. If he invited her, he paid for both. If she invited him, she

paid for both. If both went on their several initiatives each paid for

him or herself.

As to how to "win over" the most conservative of beings, young men and

young women, one can only recommend the trump card in any hand,--a sweet

and winning personality;--not "feminine influence," but personal

influence. If one's company is much desired, one can dictate terms.

Further; don't be stubborn about it. Ultimate principles are one

thing,--personal application are quite another. Vary your attitude

according to the degree of intelligence and prejudice you have to deal

with.

Problem 5th. "A person is condemned to die for a crime he did not

commit. Should he as a good citizen submit peaceably to his own murder

(legal) or fight for his life, killing jailors perhaps, till

overpowered?"

_Ans._ "As a good citizen" he should submit. See Socrates.

"In answer to question under 'Personal Problems' in June Forerunner,

'Why don't people wake up and _live!_ World size?' Will submit:

_Ans._ (a) Laziness. If people knew that thirty minutes of a

healthful regimen practiced daily would double the daily pleasure of

living and add ten years to the span of life, nine out of ten would

neglect it. And (b) thoughtlessness through faulty education; the

primary function of mental culture being to teach people to think,

analyze, and solve the problems of life, and cultivate the memory; but

memory is too often given first place to the exclusion of the

others."--_A. O. H._

This is an excellent answer. There are others.--C. P. G.

THE EDITOR'S PROBLEM

To pay its running expenses this little magazine must have about three

thousand subscribers. It now has between eleven and twelve hundred.

We want, to make good measure, two thousand more. This is a bare

minimum, providing no salary to the editor. If enough people care for

the magazine to support it to that extent, the editor will do her work

for nothing--and be glad of the chance! If enough people care for it to

support her--she will be gladder.

Do you like the magazine, its spirit and purpose? Do you find genuine

interest and amusement in the novel--the short story? Do the articles

appeal to you? Do the sermons rouse thought and stir to action? Are

the problems treated such as you care to study? Does the poetry have

bones to it as well as feathers? Does it give you your dollar's worth

in the year? And do you want another dollar's worth?

Most of the people who take it like it very much. We are going to

print, a few at a time, some of the pleasant praises our readers send.

They are so cordial that we are moved to ask all those who do enjoy this

little monthly service of sermon and story, fun and fiction, poetry and

prose,

First, To renew their subscriptions.

Second, Each to get one new subscriber. (Maybe more!)

Third, To make Christmas presents of subscriptions, or of bound volumes

of the first year.

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Books by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Sent postpaid by

THE CHARLTON COMPANY

67 WALL STREET, NEW YORK

"Women and Economics" $1.50

Since John Stuart Mill's essay there has been no book dealing with the

whole position of women to approach it in originality of conception and

brilliancy of exposition.--_London Chronicle._

A remarkable book. A work on economics that has not a dull page--the

work of a woman about women that has not a flippant word.--_Boston

Transcript._

Will be widely read and discussed as the cleverest, fairest, most

forcible presentation of the view of the rapidly increasing group who

look with favor on the extension of industrial employment to

women.--_Political Science Quarterly._

"Concerning Children" $1.25

WANTED:--A philanthropist, to give a copy to every English-speaking

parent.--_The Times,_ New York.

Should be read by every mother in the land.--_The Press,_ New York.

Wholesomely disturbing book that deserves to be read for its own

sake.--_Chicago Dial._

"In This Our World" (Poems) $1.25

There is a joyous superabundance of life, of strength, of health, in

Mrs. Gilman's verse, which seems born of the glorious sunshine and rich

gardens of California.--_Washington Times._

The poet of women and for women, a new and prophetic voice in the world.

Montaigne would have rejoiced in her.--_Mexican Herald._

"The Yellow Wall Paper" $0.50

Worthy of a place beside some of the weird masterpieces of Hawthorne and

Poe.--_Literature._

As a short story it stands among the most powerful produced in

America.--_Chicago News._

"The Home" $1.00

Indeed, Mrs. Gilman has not intended her book so much as a treatise for

scholars as a surgical operation on the popular mind.--_The Critic,_ New

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It is safe to say that no more stimulating arraignment has ever before

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"Human Work" $1.00

Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman has been writing a new book, entitled

"Human Work." It is the best thing that Mrs. Gilman has done, and it is

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In her latest volume, "Human Work," Charlotte Perkins Gilman places

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It is impossible to overestimate the value of the insistence on the

social aspect of human affairs as Mrs. Gilman has outlined it.--_Public

Opinion._

IN PREPARATION:

"What Diantha Did" (A Novel) $1.00

"The Man Made World": or, "Our Androcentric Culture" $1.00

Orders taken for Bound Vols. THE FORERUNNER, $1.25

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THE FORERUNNER

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN'S MAGAZINE

CHARLTON CO., 67 WALL ST., NEW YORK

AS TO PURPOSE:

_What is The Forerunner?_ It is a monthly magazine, publishing stories

short and serial, article and essay; drama, verse, satire and sermon;

dialogue, fable and fantasy, comment and review. It is written entirely

by Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

_What is it For?_ It is to stimulate thought: to arouse hope, courage

and impatience; to offer practical suggestions and solutions, to voice

the strong assurance of better living, here, now, in our own hands to

make.

_What is it about?_ It is about people, principles, and the questions

of every-day life; the personal and public problems of to-day. It gives

a clear, consistent view of human life and how to live it.

_Is it a Woman's magazine?_ It will treat all three phases of our

existence--male, female and human. It will discuss Man, in his true

place in life; Woman, the Unknown Power; the Child, the most important

citizen.

_Is it a Socialist Magazine?_ It is a magazine for humanity, and

humanity is social. It holds that Socialism, the economic theory, is

part of our gradual Socialization, and that the duty of conscious

humanity is to promote Socialization.

_Why is it published?_ It is published to express ideas which need a

special medium; and in the belief that there are enough persons

interested in those ideas to justify the undertaking.

AS TO ADVERTISING:

We have long heard that "A pleased customer is the best advertiser."

The Forerunner offers to its advertisers and readers the benefit of this

authority. In its advertising department, under the above heading, will

be described articles personally known and used. So far as individual

experience and approval carry weight, and clear truthful description

command attention, the advertising pages of The Forerunner will be

useful to both dealer and buyer. If advertisers prefer to use their own

statements The Forerunner will publish them if it believes them to be

true.

AS TO CONTENTS:

The main feature of the first year is a new book on a new subject with a

new name:--

_"Our Androcentric Culture."_ this is a study of the historic effect on

normal human development of a too exclusively masculine civilization.

It shows what man, the male, has done to the world: and what woman, the

more human, may do to change it.

_"What Diantha Did."_ This is a serial novel. It shows the course of

true love running very crookedly--as it so often does--among the

obstructions and difficulties of the housekeeping problem--and solves

that problem. (NOT by co-operation.)

Among the short articles will appear:

"Private Morality and Public Immorality."

"The Beauty Women Have Lost"

"Our Overworked Instincts."

"The Nun in the Kitchen."

"Genius: Domestic and Maternal."

"A Small God and a Large Goddess."

"Animals in Cities."

"How We Waste Three-Fourths Of Our Money."

"Prize Children"

"Kitchen-Mindedness"

"Parlor-Mindedness"

"Nursery-Mindedness"

There will be short stories and other entertaining matter in each issue.

The department of "Personal Problems" does not discuss etiquette,

fashions or the removal of freckles. Foolish questions will not be

answered, unless at peril of the asker.

AS TO VALUE:

If you take this magazine one year you will have:

One complete novel . . . By C. P. Gilman

One new book . . . By C. P. Gilman

Twelve short stories . . . By C. P. Gilman

Twelve-and-more short articles . . . By C. P. Gilman

Twelve-and-more new poems . . . By C. P. Gilman

Twelve Short Sermons . . . By C. P. Gilman

Besides "Comment and Review" . . . By C. P. Gilman

"Personal Problems" . . . By C. P. Gilman

And many other things . . . By C. P. Gilman

DON'T YOU THINK IT'S WORTH A DOLLAR?

THE FORERUNNER

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN'S MAGAZINE

CHARLTON CO., 67 WALL ST., NEW YORK

_____ 19__

Please find enclosed $_____ as subscription to "The Forerunner" from

_____ 19___ to _____ 19___

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__________

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THE FORERUNNER

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE

BY

CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

AUTHOR, OWNER & PUBLISHER

1.00 A YEAR

.10 A COPY

Volume 1. No. 11

SEPTEMBER, 1910

Copyright for 1910

C. P. Gilman

Your Unborn Grandchild is more real then your Buried Grandfather.

Let us then Obliterate Graveyards and Build Babygardens.

TO-MORROW NIGHT

Marginal mile after mile of smooth-running granite embankment,

Washed by clean waters, clean seas and clean rivers embracing;

Pier upon pier lying wide for the ships of all seas to foregather,

Broad steps of marble, descending, for the people to enter the water,

White quays of marble, with music, and myriad pleasure-boats waiting;

Music of orchestras playing in blossoming parks by the river,

Playing on white-pillared piers where the lightfooted thousands are

dancing,

Dancing at night in the breeze flowing fresh from the sea and the river;

Music of flute and guitar from the lovers afloat on the water,

Music of happy young voices far-flying across the bright ripples,

Bright with high-glittering ships and the low rosy lanterns of lovers,

Bright with the stars overhead and the stars of the city beside them,

Their city, the heaven they know, and love as they love one another.

MR. ROBERT GREY SR.

I thought I knew what trouble was when Jimmy went away. It was bad

enough when he was clerking in Barstow and I only saw him once a week;

but now he'd gone to sea.

He said he'd never earn much as a clerk, and he hated it too. He'd

saved every cent he could of his wages and taken a share in the Mary

Jenks, and I shouldn't see him again for a year maybe,--maybe more. She

was a sealer.

O dear! I'd have married him just as he was; but he said he couldn't

keep me yet, and if they had luck he'd make 400 per cent. on his savings

that voyage,--and it was all for me. My blessed Jimmy!

He hadn't been gone but a bare fortnight when "unmerciful disaster

followed fast and followed faster" on our poor heads. First father

broke his arm. There was the doctor to pay, and all that plaster cast

thing, and of course I had to do the milking and all the work. I didn't

mind that a bit. We hadn't any horse then, to take care of, and Rosy,

our cow, was a dear; gentle as a kitten, and sweet-breathed as a baby.

But it put back all the farm work, of course; we couldn't hire, and

there wasn't enough to go shares on. Mother was pretty wretched, and no

wonder.

And then Rosy was stolen! That did seem the last straw. As long as

Rosy was there and I could milk her, we shouldn't starve.

Poor father! There he sat, with that plaster arm in the sling--the

other one looking so discouraged and nerveless, and his head bowed on

his breast; the hand hanging, the strong busy fingers laxly open.

"I'll go and look," he said, starting up, "where's my hat?"

"It's no use looking, father," said I, "the halter's gone, there are big

footprints beside her hoof-marks out to the road, and then quite a

stamped place, and then wagon wheels and her nice little clean tracks

going off after the wagon. Plain stolen."

He sat down again and groaned.

"Thought I heard a wagon in the middle of the night," said mother,

weakly. Her face was flushed, and her eyes ran over. "I can't sleep

much you know. I ought to have spoken, but you need your sleep."

I ran to her and kissed her.

"Now mother dear! Don't you fret over it,--please don't! We'll find

Rosy. I'll get Mrs. Clark to 'phone for me at once."

"'Phone where?" said father. "It's no use 'phoning. Its those gypsies.

And they got to town hours ago--and Rosy's beef by this time." He set

his jaw hard; but there were tears in his eyes, too.

I was nearly distracted myself. "If only Jimmy were here," I said,

"he'd find her!"

"I don't doubt he'd make a try," said father, "but it's too late."

I ran over to Mrs. Clark, and we 'phoned to the police in Barstow, and

sure enough they found the hide and horns! It didn't do us any good.

They arrested some gypsies, but couldn't prove anything; shut one of 'em

up for vagrancy, too,--but that didn't do us any good, either. And if

they'd proved it and convicted him it wouldn't have brought back

Rosy,--or given us another cow.

Then mother got sick. It was pure discouragement as much as anything, I

think, and she missed Rosy's milk,--she used to half live on it. After

she was sick she missed it more, there were so few things she could

eat,--and not many of those I could get for her.

O how I did miss Jimmy! If he'd been there he'd have helped me to _see

over_ it all. "Sho!" he'd have said. "It's hard lines, little girl,

now; but bless you, a broken arm's only temporary; your father'll be as

good as ever soon. And your mother'll get well; she's a strong woman.

I never saw a stronger woman of her age. And as to the food--just claim

you're 'no breakfast' people, and believe in fasting for your health!"

That's the way Jimmy met things, and I tried to say it all to myself,

and keep my spirits up,--and theirs. But Jimmy was at sea.

Well, father couldn't work, it had to be his right arm, of course. And

mother couldn't work either; she was just helpless and miserable, and

the more she worried the sicker she got, and the sicker she got the more

she worried. My patience! How I did work! No time to read, no time to

study, no time to sew on any of the pretty white things I was gradually

accumulating. I got up before daylight, almost; kept the house as neat

as I could, and got breakfast, such as it was. Father could dress

himself after a fashion, and he could sit with mother when I was outside

working in the garden. I began that garden just as an experiment, the

day after father broke his arm. The outlay was only thirty cents for

lettuce and radish seed, but it took a lot of work.

Then there was mother to do for, and father to cheer up (which was

hardest of all), and dinner and supper to get,--and nothing to get them

with, practically.

The doctor didn't push us any, but father hates a debt as he hates

poison, and mother is a natural worrier. "She is killing herself with

worry," the doctor said; and he had no anti-toxin for that, apparently.

And then, as if that wasn't enough, that Mr. Robert Grey Sr. took

advantage of our misfortunes and began to make up to me again.

I never liked the old man since I was a little girl. He was always

picking me up and kissing me, when I didn't want to in the least. When

I got older he'd pinch my checks, and offer me a nickle if I'd kiss him.

Mother liked him, for he stood high in the church, and was a charitable

soul. Father liked him because he was successful--father always admired

successful men;--and Mr. Grey got his money honestly, too, father said.

He was a kind old soul. He offered to send me to college, and I was

awfully tempted; but father couldn't bear a money obligation,--and I

couldn't bear Mr. Grey.

There was a Robert Grey Jr., who was disagreeable enough; a thin,

pimply, sanctimonious young fellow, with a class of girls in

sunday-school. He was sickly enough, but Mr. Robert Grey Sr. was worse.

He sort of tottered and threw his feet about as he walked; and kind or

not kind, I couldn't bear him. But he came around now all the time.

He brought mother nice things to eat,--you can't refuse gifts to the

sick,--and they were awfully nice; he has a first class cook. And he

brought so much that there was enough for father too. We had to eat it

to save it, you see,--but I hated every mouthful. I lived on our

potatoes mostly, and they were poor enough--in June--and no milk to go

with them.

He came every day, bringing his basket of delicacies for mother, and

he'd chat awhile with her--she liked it; and he'd sit and talk with

father--he liked it; and then he'd hang around me--and I had to be civil

to him! But I did not like it a bit. I couldn't bear the old man with

his thin grey whiskers, and his watery gray eyes, and his big pink

mouth--color of an old hollyhock.

But he came and came, and nobody could fail to see what he wanted; but O

dear me! How I wished for Jimmy. My big, strong, brisk boy, with the

jolly laugh and the funny little swears that he invented himself! I

watched the shipping news, and waited and hoped; he might come back any

time now, if they'd had luck. But he didn't come. Mr. Robert Grey Sr.

was there every day--and Jimmy didn't come.

I tried not to cry. I needed all my strength and courage to keep some

heart in father and mother, and I tried always to remember what Jimmy

would have said; how he'd have faced it. "Don't be phazed by

_anything,_" he used to say. "Everything goes by--give it time. Don't

holler! Don't give a jam!" (People always looked so surprised when

Jimmy said "Jam!") "Just hang on and do the square thing. You're not

responsible for other people's sorrows. Hold up your own end."

Jimmy was splendid! He used to read to me about an old philosopher

called Euripides, and I got to appreciate him too. But when the papers

were full of "Storms at sea"--"Terrible weather in the

north"--"Gales"--"High winds"--"Losses in shipping"--it did seem as if I

couldn't bear it.

Then at last it came, in a terrible list of wrecks. The Mary

Jenks--lost, with all on board.

O what was the use of living! What did anything matter! Why couldn't I

die! Why couldn't I die!

But I didn't. My health was as good as ever; I could even sleep--when I

wasn't crying. Working hard out of doors and not eating very much makes

you sleep I guess, heart or no heart. And I had to keep on working; my

lettuce was up and coming on finely, rows upon rows of it, just as I had

planted it, two days apart. And the radishes too, they were eatable,

and we tried them.

But father laughed grimly at my small garden. "A lot of good that'll do

us, child!" he said. "O Jenny--there's more than that you can do for

your poor mother! I know you feel badly, and ordinarily I wouldn't say

a word, but--you see how it is."

I saw how it was well enough, but it seemed to me too horrible to think

of. To thrust that tottering old philanthropist right into my poor

bleeding heart! I couldn't bear it.

Mother never said a word. But she looked. She'd lie there with her big

hollow eyes following me around the room; and when I came to do anything

for her she'd look in my face so! It was more effective than all

father's talks. For father had made up his mind now, and urged me all

the time.

"We might as well face the facts, Jenny," he said. "James Young is

gone, and I'm sorry; and you are naturally broken-hearted. But even if

you were a widow I'd say the same thing. Here is this man who has been

good to you since you were a child; he will treat you well, you'll have

a home, you'll be provided for when he dies. I know you're not in love

with him. I don't expect it. He don't either. He has spoken to me.

He don't expect miracles. Here we are, absolutely living on his food!

It--it is _terrible_ to me, Jennie! But I couldn't refuse, for your

mother's sake. Now if I could pocket my pride for her sake, can't you

pocket your grief? You can't bring back the dead."

"O father, don't!" I said. "How can you talk so! O Jimmy! Jimmy!--If

you were here!"

"He isn't here--he never will be!" said father steadily. "But your

mother is here, and sick. Mr. Grey wants to send her to a

sanitarium--'as a friend.' I can't let him do that,--it would cost

hundreds of dollars. But--as a son-in-law I could."

Mother didn't say a thing--dear mother. But she looked at me.

They made me feel like a brute, between them; at least father did. He

kept right on talking.

"Mr. Grey is a good man," he said, "an unusually good man. If he was a

bad man I'd never say a word."

"He was when he was young, old Miss Green says," I answered.

"I am ashamed of you, Jennie," said father, "to listen to such

scandalous gossip! How--how unmaidenly of you! I dare say he was a

little wild,--forty years ago. Most young fellows are, and he was rich

and handsome. But he has been a shining light in this community for

forty years.--A good husband--a good father."

"What'd his wife die of?" I asked suddenly.

"An operation,--but he did everything for her. She had the best doctors

and nurses. She was a good deal of an invalid, I believe, after Robert

Jr. was born."

"He's not much!" said I.

"No, Robert Jr. has been a great disappointment to his father--the great

disappointment of his life, I may say; though he was very fond of his

wife. But he won't trouble you any, Jenny; his father is going to send

him to Europe for a long time--for his health. Now Jenny, all this is

ancient history. Here is a good kind man who loves you dearly, and

wants to marry you at once. If you do it you may save your mother's

life,--and set me on my feet again for what remains of mine. I never

said a word while you were engaged to Jimmy Young, but now it's a plain

duty."

That night Mr. Grey Sr. came as usual. He had sent round his car and

got mother to take a ride that afternoon. It did her good, too. And

when he came father went out and sat with her, and left me to him:--and

he asked me to marry him.

He told me all the things he'd do for me--for mother--for father. He

said he shouldn't live very long anyway, and then I could be my own

mistress, with plenty of money. And I couldn't say a word, yes or no.

I sat there, playing with the edge of the lamp-mat--and thinking of

Jimmy.

And then Mr. Robert Grey Sr. made a mistake. He got a hold of my hand

and fingered it. He came and took me in his arms--and kissed my mouth.

I jerked away from him--he almost fell over. "No! O NO!" I cried. "I

can't do it Mr. Grey. I simply _can't!"_

He turned the color of ashes.

"Why not?" he said.

"Because it isn't decent," said I firmly. "I can't bear to have you

touch me--never could. I will be a servant to you--I will work for

you--nurse you--but to be your wife!--I'm sorry Mr. Grey, but I can't do

it."

I ran upstairs, and cried and cried; and I had reason to cry, for father

was a living thundercloud after that, and mother was worse; and they

wouldn't take any more of Mr. Grey's kindnesses, either of them.

My lettuce and radishes kept us alive until the potatoes were ripe. I

sold them, fresh every day. Walked three miles with a big basket full

every morning, to one of the summer hotels. It was awfully heavy,

especially when it rained. They didn't pay much, but it kept us--a

dollar a day, sometimes more.

Father got better in course of time, of course, and went to work on the

farm in a discouraged sort of way. But mother was worse, if anything.

She never blamed me--never said a word; but her eyes were a living

reproach.

"Mother, dear," I begged her, "do forgive me! I'll work till I drop,

for you; I'll deny myself everything: I'll do most anything that's

decent and honest. But to marry a man you don't love is not honest; and

to marry an old invalid like that--it's not decent."

She just sighed--didn't say anything.

"Cheer up mother, do! Father's almost well; we can get through this

year somehow. Next year I can make enough to buy a cow, really."

But it wasn't more than a month from that time, I was sitting on the

door stone at twilight--thinking of Jimmy, of course--and--there _was_

Jimmy. I thought it was his ghost; but if it was it was a very

warm-blooded one.

As to old Mr. Robert Grey, Sr., he persuaded little Grace Salters to

marry him; a pretty, foolish, plump little thing; and if you'll believe

it, she died within a year--she and her baby with her.

Well. If ever anybody was glad I was.

I don't mean glad she was dead, poor girl; but glad I didn't marry him,

and did marry Jimmy.

WHAT VIRTUES ARE MADE OF

"Making a virtue of necessity" we say, somewhat scornfully; and never

consider that all virtues are so made.

"The savage virtues" of endurance, patience, gratitude, hospitality, are

easily seen to be precisely the main necessities of savages. Their

daily hardships and occasional miseries were such that an extra store of

endurance was needed, and this they artificially cultivated by the

system of initiation by torture.

The Spartans used the same plan, training the young soldier to bear a

doubly heavy spear, that the real one might be light to his hand.

Patience was needed by the hunter, and still more by the laboring squaw;

gratitude sprang from the great need--and rarity--of mercy or service;

and hospitality is always found in proportion to the distance,

difficulty, and danger of traveling. Courage, as the preeminent virtue

of manhood, rose to this prominence later in history, under conditions

of constant warfare.

Where you have to meet danger, and your danger is best overcome by

courage, by that necessity courage becomes a virtue. It has not been

deemed a virtue in women, because it was not a necessity. They were not

allowed to face outer danger; and what dangers they had were best

escaped by avoidance and ingenuity. Amusingly enough, since the woman's

main danger came through her "natural protector"--man; and since her

skill and success in escaping from or overcoming him was naturally not

valued by him, much less considered a necessity; this power of evasion

and adaptation in woman has never been called a virtue. Yet it is just

as serviceable to her as courage to the man, and therefore as much a

virtue.

Honesty is a modern virtue. It existed, without a name and without

praise, among savages; but its place among virtues comes with the period

of commercial life. Without some honesty, no commerce; it is absolutely

necessary to keep the world going; its absence in any degree is a social

injury; therefore we extol honesty and seek to punish dishonesty, as the

savage never thought of doing.

All men are not honest in this commercial period, nor were all men brave

in the period of warfare: but they all agree in praising the virtue most

needed at the time.

Truth, as a special virtue, is interesting to study. The feeling of

trust in the word of another is of great value, under some conditions.

Under what conditions? In slavery? No. Truthfulness is evidently not

advantageous to slaves, for they do not manifest, or even esteem that

quality.

Those same Spartans, to whom courage and endurance stood so high,

thought but little of truth and honesty, and taught their boys to steal.

In warfare trickery and robbery are part of the game.

Where do we find the "word of honour" most valued? Among gentlefolk and

nobles, and those who inherit their traditions and impulses. It is

conditioned upon freedom and power. You must trust a man's word--when

you have no other hold upon him!

Mercy, kindness, "humanity"--as we quite justifiably call it,--is a very

young virtue, growing with social growth. Cruelty was once the rule;

now the exception. The more inextricably our lives are interwoven in

the social fabric, the more we need the mutual love which is the natural

state of social beings; and this feeling becoming a necessity, it also

becomes a virtue. Similarly, as our lives depend on the presence and

service of other animals we need to be kind to them; and in our highest

development so far, kindness to animals has been elected virtue.

But of all virtues made of necessity, none is more glaringly in evidence

than the one we call "virtue" itself,--chastity. We call it "virtue"

because it is _the_ quality--and the only quality--which has been a

necessity to the possessor--woman. Her life depended absolutely on man.

He valued her in one relation, and in that relation demanded this one

thing;--that she serve him alone.

Because of this demand, to her an absolute necessity, we have developed

the virtue of chastity, and praised it above all others--in woman! But

in men it was not even considered a virtue, much less demanded and

enforced.

Could anything be clearer proof that virtue was made of necessity?

What we need to study now is the chief necessity of modern life. When

we have found that out we shall be able to rearrange our scale of

virtues.

ANIMALS IN CITIES

A city is a group residence for human beings. There is no room in it

for any animal but one--_Genus Homo._ At present we make a sort of

menagerie of it.

Genus Homo is the major factor, bus he shares his common home with many

other beasts, _genus equus,_ _genus canis,_ _genus felis,_ and members

of others whose Latin names are not so familiar.

The horse is most numerous. He is a clean animal, a good friend and

strong servant where animals belong--in the country. In the city he is

an enemy. His stable is a Depot for the Wholesale Distribution of

Diseases.

The services of the horse, and the tons upon tons of fertilizing

material produced by him, are financially valuable; but the injury from

many deaths, the yearly drain from long sickness, and all the doctors

and druggists bills, amounts to a far greater loss.

There is no horse work in a city that cannot be done by machine. The

carriage, wagon, truck and dray, can take his place as workers; and they

_breed no flies._

We are learning, learning fast, how large a proportion of diseases

spring from minute living things which get inside of us and play havoc

with our organism. And very lately we are learning further, that of all

the benevolent distributors of disease none are more swift and sure than

certain insects; insects which are born and bred in and upon the bodies

and excreta of animals.

It is true that our kitchen garbage furnishes another popular nursery

for flies, but the unclean stable is the other breeding place.

Next in number to the horse come the dog and cat. These creatures are

not healthy and not happy in a city. They cannot be kept there without

injury to them; and the injury is more than revenged upon their keepers.

The dog furnishes his quota of deaths from hydrophobia, as well as

plain "assault and battery;" he defiles our sidewalks, and the fruits

and vegetables exposed upon our sidewalks; he keeps us awake by his

forlorn howling; he has diseases of his own which we may receive from

him; and he has fleas.

The flea, as well as the fly, is a valiant and industrious purveyor of

disease. From beast to beast they hop, carrying their toxic germs with

them: and the dog, displeased with his persecutors, scratches them off

upon our carpets.

The same applies to cats. A cat in the country is clean and safe; a cat

in the city is neither--if it has any freedom. If a young kitten,

cleansed and flealess, were reared in a lofty apartment, it would be

clean, doubtless; but the usual cat is free on intersecting fences; and

in the contact of warfare, or of gentler feelings, the flea is free to

travel and exchange.

The rat and mouse come under the same condemnation; they have fleas.

They make dirt. They tend to increase and maintain our insect pests and

terrors. They penetrate to all unsavory places. They acquire disease

themselves, or carry the germs of it in their blood or on their fur.

Their parasites gather them up and give them to us. The rats will leave

a sinking ship, the fleas will leave a sinking rat, and among their

millions some of them come to us.

When we build cities clean and tight from basement to roof,--all

concrete, brick, stone, metal, and plaster; when the holes for pipes of

all sorts are scaled as they enter the home; when the kitchen is

eliminated by 90 per cent. and replaced by the food laboratories; when

no animal but man is allowed within city limits--and he is taught to

keep clean; we can then compare, for antiseptic cleanliness with a fine

hospital--and have few hospitals to compare with!

WHAT DIANTHA DID

XI.

THE POWER OF THE SCREW.

Your car is too big for one person to stir--

Your chauffeur is a little man, too;

Yet he lifts that machine, does the little chauffeur,

By the power of a gentle jackscrew.

Diantha worked.

For all her employees she demanded a ten-hour day, she worked fourteen;

rising at six and not getting to bed till eleven, when her charges were

all safely in their rooms for the night.

They were all up at five-thirty or thereabouts, breakfasting at six, and

the girls off in time to reach their various places by seven. Their day

was from 7 A. M. to 8.30 P. M., with half an hour out, from 11.30 to

twelve, for their lunch; and three hours, between 2.20 and 5.30, for

their own time, including their tea. Then they worked again from 5.30

to 8.30, on the dinner and the dishes, and then they came home to a

pleasant nine o'clock supper, and had all hour to dance or rest before

the 10.30 bell for bed time.

Special friends and "cousins" often came home with them, and frequently

shared the supper--for a quarter--and the dance for nothing.

It was no light matter in the first place to keep twenty girls contented

with such a regime, and working with the steady excellence required, and

in the second place to keep twenty employers contented with them. There

were failures on both sides; half a dozen families gave up the plan, and

it took time to replace them; and three girls had to be asked to resign

before the year was over. But most of them had been in training in the

summer, and had listened for months to Diantha's earnest talks to the

clubs, with good results.

"Remember we are not doing this for ourselves alone," she would say to

them. "Our experiment is going to make this kind of work easier for all

home workers everywhere. You may not like it at first, but neither did

you like the old way. It will grow easier as we get used to it; and we

_must_ keep the rules, because we made them!"

She laboriously composed a neat little circular, distributed it widely,

and kept a pile in her lunch room for people to take.

It read thus:

UNION HOUSE

Food and Service.

General Housework by the week . . . $10.00

General Housework by the day . . . $2.00

Ten hours work a day, and furnish their own food.

Additional labor by the hour . . . $ .20

Special service for entertainments, maids and waitresses, by the hour .

. . $ .25

Catering for entertainments.

Delicacies for invalids.

Lunches packed and delivered.

Caffeteria . . . 12 to 2

What annoyed the young manager most was the uncertainty and irregularity

involved in her work, the facts varying considerably from her

calculations.

In the house all ran smoothly. Solemn Mrs. Thorvald did the laundry

work for thirty-five--by the aid of her husband and a big mangle for the

"flat work." The girls' washing was limited. "You have to be

reasonable about it," Diantha had explained to them. "Your fifty cents

covers a dozen pieces--no more. If you want more you have to pay more,

just as your employers do for your extra time."

This last often happened. No one on the face of it could ask more than

ten hours of the swift, steady work given by the girls at but a fraction

over 14 cents an hour. Yet many times the housekeeper was anxious for

more labor on special days; and the girls, unaccustomed to the three

free hours in the afternoon, were quite willing to furnish it, thus

adding somewhat to their cash returns.

They had a dressmaking class at the club afternoons, and as Union House

boasted a good sewing machine, many of them spent the free hours in

enlarging their wardrobes. Some amused themselves with light reading, a

few studied, others met and walked outside. The sense of honest leisure

grew upon them, with its broadening influence; and among her thirty

Diantha found four or five who were able and ambitious, and willing to

work heartily for the further development of the business.

Her two housemaids were specially selected. When the girls were out of

the house these two maids washed the breakfast dishes with marvelous

speed, and then helped Diantha prepare for the lunch. This was a large

undertaking, and all three of them, as well as Julianna and Hector

worked at it until some six or eight hundred sandwiches were ready, and

two or three hundred little cakes.

Diantha had her own lunch, and then sat at the receipt of custom during

the lunch hour, making change and ordering fresh supplies as fast as

needed.

The two housemaids had a long day, but so arranged that it made but ten

hours work, and they had much available time of their own. They had to

be at work at 5:30 to set the table for six o'clock breakfast, and then

they were at it steadily, with the dining rooms to "do," and the lunch

to get ready, until 11:30, when they had an hour to eat and rest. From

12:30 to 4 o'clock they were busy with the lunch cups, the bed-rooms,

and setting the table for dinner; but after that they had four hours to

themselves, until the nine o'clock supper was over, and once more they

washed dishes for half an hour. The caffeteria used only cups and

spoons; the sandwiches and cakes were served on paper plates.

In the hand-cart methods of small housekeeping it is impossible to exact

the swift precision of such work, but not in the standardized tasks and

regular hours of such an establishment as this.

Diantha religiously kept her hour at noon, and tried to keep the three

in the afternoon; but the employer and manager cannot take irresponsible

rest as can the employee. She felt like a most inexperienced captain on

a totally new species of ship, and her paper plans looked very weak

sometimes, as bills turned out to be larger than she had allowed for, or

her patronage unaccountably dwindled. But if the difficulties were

great, the girl's courage was greater. "It is simply a big piece of

work," she assured herself, "and may be a long one, but there never was

anything better worth doing. Every new business has difficulties, I

mustn't think of them. I must just push and push and push--a little

more every day."

And then she would draw on all her powers to reason with, laugh at, and

persuade some dissatisfied girl; or, hardest of all, to bring in a new

one to fill a vacancy.

She enjoyed the details of her lunch business, and studied it carefully;

planning for a restaurant a little later. Her bread was baked in long

cylindrical closed pans, and cut by machinery into thin even slices, not

a crust wasted; for they were ground into crumbs and used in the

cooking.

The filling for her sandwiches was made from fish, flesh, and fowl; from

cheese and jelly and fruit and vegetables; and so named or numbered that

the general favorites were gradually determined.

Mr. Thaddler chatted with her over the counter, as far as she would

allow it, and discoursed more fully with his friends on the verandah.

"Porne," he said, "where'd that girl come from anyway? She's a genius,

that's what she is; a regular genius."

"She's all that," said Mr. Porne, "and a benefactor to humanity thrown

in. I wish she'd start her food delivery, though. I'm tired of those

two Swedes already. O--come from? Up in Jopalez, Inca County, I

believe."

"New England stock I bet," said Mr. Thaddler. "Its a damn shame the way

the women go on about her."

"Not all of them, surely," protested Mr. Porne.

"No, not all of 'em,--but enough of 'em to make mischief, you may be

sure. Women are the devil, sometimes."

Mr. Porne smiled without answer, and Mr. Thaddler went sulking away--a

bag of cakes bulging in his pocket.

The little wooden hotel in Jopalez boasted an extra visitor a few days

later. A big red faced man, who strolled about among the tradesmen,

tried the barber's shop, loafed in the post office, hired a rig and

traversed the length and breadth of the town, and who called on Mrs.

Warden, talking real estate with her most politely in spite of her

protestation and the scornful looks of the four daughters; who bought

tobacco and matches in the grocery store, and sat on the piazza thereof

to smoke, as did other gentlemen of leisure.

Ross Warden occasionally leaned at the door jamb, with folded arms. He

never could learn to be easily sociable with ranchmen and teamsters.

Serve them he must, but chat with them he need not. The stout gentleman

essayed some conversation, but did not get far. Ross was polite, but

far from encouraging, and presently went home to supper, leaving a

carrot-haired boy to wait upon his lingering customers.

"Nice young feller enough," said the stout gentleman to himself, "but

raised on ramrods. Never got 'em from those women folks of his, either.

He _has_ a row to hoe!" And he departed as he had come.

Mr. Eltwood turned out an unexpectedly useful friend to Diantha. He

steered club meetings and "sociables" into her large rooms, and as

people found how cheap and easy it was to give parties that way, they

continued the habit. He brought his doctor friends to sample the lunch,

and they tested the value of Diantha's invalid cookery, and were more

than pleased.

Hungry tourists were wholly without prejudice, and prized her lunches

for their own sake. They descended upon the caffeteria in chattering

swarms, some days, robbing the regular patrons of their food, and sent

sudden orders for picnic lunches that broke in upon the routine hours of

the place unmercifully.

But of all her patrons, the families of invalids appreciated Diantha's

work the most. Where a little shack or tent was all they could afford

to live in, or where the tiny cottage was more than filled with the

patient, attending relative, and nurse, this depot of supplies was a

relief indeed.

A girl could be had for an hour or two; or two girls, together, with

amazing speed, could put a small house in dainty order while the sick

man lay in his hammock under the pepper trees; and be gone before he was

fretting for his bed again. They lived upon her lunches; and from them,

and other quarters, rose an increasing demand for regular cooked food.

"Why don't you go into it at once?" urged Mrs. Weatherstone.

"I want to establish the day service first," said Diantha. "It is a

pretty big business I find, and I do get tired sometimes. I can't

afford to slip up, you know. I mean to take it up next fall, though."

"All right. And look here; see that you begin in first rate shape.

I've got some ideas of my own about those food containers."

They discussed the matter more than once, Diantha most reluctant to take

any assistance; Mrs. Weatherstone determined that she should.

"I feel like a big investor already," she said. "I don't think even you

realize the _money_ there is in this thing! You are interested in

establishing the working girls, and saving money and time for the

housewives. I am interested in making money out of it--honestly! It

would be such a triumph!"

"You're very good--" Diantha hesitated.

"I'm not good. I'm most eagerly and selfishly interested. I've taken a

new lease of life since knowing you, Diantha Bell! You see my father

was a business man, and his father before him--I _like it._ There I

was, with lots of money, and not an interest in life! Now?--why,

there's no end to this thing, Diantha! It's one of the biggest

businesses on earth--if not _the_ biggest!"

"Yes--I know," the girl answered. "But its slow work. I feel the

weight of it more than I expected. There's every reason to succeed, but

there's the combined sentiment of the whole world to lift--it's as heavy

as lead."

"Heavy! Of course it's heavy! The more fun to lift it! You'll do it,

Diantha, I know you will, with that steady, relentless push of yours.

But the cooked food is going to be your biggest power, and you must let

me start it right. Now you listen to me, and make Mrs. Thaddler eat her

words!"

Mrs. Thaddler's words would have proved rather poisonous, if eaten. She

grew more antagonistic as the year advanced. Every fault that could be

found in the undertaking she pounced upon and enlarged; every doubt that

could be cast upon it she heavily piled up; and her opposition grew more

rancorous as Mr. Thaddler enlarged in her hearing upon the excellence of

Diantha's lunches and the wonders of her management.

"She's picked a bunch o' winners in those girls of hers," he declared to

his friends. "They set out in the morning looking like a flock of sweet

peas--in their pinks and whites and greens and vi'lets,--and do more

work in an hour than the average slavey can do in three, I'm told."

It was a pretty sight to see those girls start out. They had a sort of

uniform, as far as a neat gingham dress went, with elbow sleeves, white

ruffled, and a Dutch collar; a sort of cross between a nurses dress and

that of "La Chocolataire;" but colors were left to taste. Each carried

her apron and a cap that covered the hair while cooking and sweeping;

but nothing that suggested the black and white livery of the regulation

servant.

"This is a new stage of labor," their leader reminded them. "You are

not servants--you are employees. You wear a cap as an English carpenter

does--or a French cook,--and an apron because your work needs it. It is

not a ruffled label,--it's a business necessity. And each one of us

must do our best to make this new kind of work valued and respected."

It is no easy matter to overcome prejudices many centuries old, and meet

the criticism of women who have nothing to do but criticize. Those who

were "mistresses," and wanted "servants,"--someone to do their will at

any moment from early morning till late evening,--were not pleased with

the new way if they tried it; but the women who had interests of their

own to attend to; who merely wanted their homes kept clean, and the food

well cooked and served, were pleased. The speed, the accuracy, the

economy; the pleasant, quiet, assured manner of these skilled employees

was a very different thing from the old slipshod methods of the ordinary

general servant.

So the work slowly prospered, while Diantha began to put in execution

the new plan she had been forced into.

While it matured, Mrs. Thaddler matured hers. With steady dropping she

had let fall far and wide her suspicions as to the character of Union

House.

"It looks pretty queer to me!" she would say, confidentially, "All those

girls together, and no person to have any authority over them! Not a

married woman in the house but that washerwoman,--and her husband's a

fool!"

"And again; You don't see how she does it? Neither do I! The expenses

must be tremendous--those girls pay next to nothing,--and all that broth

and brown bread flying about town! Pretty queer doings, I think!"

"The men seem to like that caffeteria, don't they?" urged one caller,

perhaps not unwilling to nestle Mrs. Thaddler, who flushed darkly as she

replied. "Yes, they do. Men usually like that sort of place."

"They like good food at low prices, if that's what you mean," her

visitor answered.

"That's not all I mean--by a long way," said Mrs. Thaddler. She said so

much, and said it so ingeniously, that a dark rumor arose from nowhere,

and grew rapidly. Several families discharged their Union House girls.

Several girls complained that they were insultingly spoken to on the

street. Even the lunch patronage began to fall off.

Diantha was puzzled--a little alarmed. Her slow, steady lifting of the

prejudice against her was checked. She could not put her finger on the

enemy, yet felt one distinctly, and had her own suspicions. But she

also had her new move well arranged by this time.

Then a maliciously insinuating story of the place came out in a San

Francisco paper, and a flock of local reporters buzzed in to sample the

victim. They helped themselves to the luncheon, and liked it. but that

did not soften their pens. They talked with such of the girls as they

could get in touch with, and wrote such versions of these talks as

suited them.

They called repeatedly at Union House, but Diantha refused to see them.

Finally she was visited by the Episcopalian clergyman. He had heard her

talk at the Club, was favorably impressed by the girl herself, and

honestly distressed by the dark stories he now heard about Union House.

"My dear young lady," he said, "I have called to see you in your own

interests. I do not, as you perhaps know, approve of your schemes. I

consider them--ah--subversive of the best interests of the home! But I

think you mean well, though mistakenly. Now I fear you are not aware

that this-ah--ill-considered undertaking of yours, is giving rise to

considerable adverse comment in the community. There is--ah--there is a

great deal being said about this business of yours which I am sure you

would regret if you knew it. Do you think it is wise; do you think it

is--ah--right, my dear Miss Bell, to attempt to carry on a--a place of

this sort, without the presence of a--of a Matron of assured standing?"

Diantha smiled rather coldly.

"May I trouble you to step into the back parlor, Dr. Aberthwaite," she

said; and then;

"May I have the pleasure of presenting to you Mrs. Henderson Bell--my

mother?"

*

"Wasn't it great!" said Mrs. Weatherstone; "I was there you see,-- I'd

come to call on Mrs. Bell--she's a dear,--and in came Mrs. Thaddler--"

"Mrs. Thaddler?"

"O I know it was old Aberthwaite, but he represented Mrs. Thaddler and

her clique, and had come there to preach to Diantha about propriety--I

heard him,--and she brought him in and very politely introduced him to

her mother!--it was rich, Isabel."

"How did Diantha manage it?" asked her friend.

"She's been trying to arrange it for ever so long. Of course her father

objected--you'd know that. But there's a sister--not a bad sort, only

very limited; she's taken the old man to board, as it were, and I guess

the mother really set her foot down for once--said she had a right to

visit her own daughter!"

"It would seem so," Mrs. Porne agreed. "I _am_ so glad! It will be so

much easier for that brave little woman now."

It was.

Diantha held her mother in her arms the night she came, and cried tike a

baby.

"O mother _dear!_" she sobbed, "I'd no idea I should miss you so much.

O you blessed comfort!"

Her mother cried a bit too; she enjoyed this daughter more than either

of her older children, and missed her more. A mother loves all her

children, naturally; but a mother is also a person--and may, without

sin, have personal preferences.

She took hold of Diantha's tangled mass of papers with the eagerness of

a questing hound.

"You've got all the bills, of course," she demanded, with her anxious

rising inflection.

"Every one," said the girl. "You taught me that much. What puzzles me

is to make things balance. I'm making more than I thought in some

lines, and less in others, and I can't make it come out straight."

"It won't, altogether, till the end of the year I dare say," said Mrs.

Bell, "but let's get clear as far as we can. In the first place we must

separate your business,--see how much each one pays."

"The first one I want to establish," said her daughter, "is the girl's

club. Not just this one, with me to run it. But to show that any group

of twenty or thirty girls could do this thing in any city. Of course

where rents and provisions were high they'd have to charge more. I want

to make an average showing somehow. Now can you disentangle the girl

part front the lunch part and the food part, mother dear, and make it

all straight?"

Mrs. Bell could and did; it gave her absolute delight to do it. She

set down the total of Diantha's expenses so far in the Service

Department, as follows:

Rent of Union House . . . $1,500

Rent of furniture . . . $300

One payment on furniture . . . $400

Fuel and lights, etc. . . . $352

Service of 5 at $10 a week each . . . $2,600

Food for thirty-seven . . . $3,848

-----

Total . . . $9,000

"That covers everything but my board," said Mrs. Bell.

"Now your income is easy--35 x $4.50 equals $8,190. Take that from your

$9,000 and you are $810 behind."

"Yes, I know," said Diantha, eagerly, "but if it was merely a girl's

club home, the rent and fixtures would be much less. A home could be

built, with thirty bedrooms--and all necessary conveniences--for $7,000.

I've asked Mr. and Mrs. Porne about it; and the furnishing needn't cost

over $2,000 if it was very plain. Ten per cent. of that is a rent of

$900 you see."

"I see," said her mother. "Better say a thousand. I guess it could be

done for that."

So they set down rent, $1,000.

"There have to be five paid helpers in the house," Diantha went on, "the

cook, the laundress, the two maids, and the matron. She must buy and

manage. She could be one of their mothers or aunts."

Mrs. Bell smiled. "Do you really imagine, Diantha, that Mrs.

O'Shaughnessy or Mrs. Yon Yonson can manage a house like this as you

can?"

Diantha flushed a little. "No, mother, of course not. But I am keeping

very full reports of all the work. Just the schedule of labor--the

hours--the exact things done. One laundress, with machinery, can wash

for thirty-five, (its only six a day you see), and the amount is

regulated; about six dozen a day, and all the flat work mangled.

"In a Girl's Club alone the cook has all day off, as it were; she can do

the down stairs cleaning. And the two maids have only table service and

bedrooms."

"Thirty-five bedrooms?"

"Yes. But two girls together, who know how, can do a room in 8

minutes--easily. They are small and simple you see. Make the bed,

shake the mats, wipe the floors and windows,--you watch them!"

"I have watched them," the mother admitted. "They are as quick as--as

mill-workers!"

"Well," pursued Diantha, "they spend three hours on dishes and tables,

and seven on cleaning. The bedrooms take 280 minutes; that's nearly

five hours. The other two are for the bath rooms, halls, stairs,

downstairs windows, and so on. That's all right. Then I'm keeping the

menus--just what I furnish and what it costs. Anybody could order and

manage when it was all set down for her. And you see--as you have

figured it--they'd have over $500 leeway to buy the furniture if they

were allowed to."

"Yes," Mrs. Bell admitted, "_if_ the rent was what you allow, and _if_

they all work all the time!"

"That's the hitch, of course. But mother; the girls who don't have

steady jobs do work by the hour, and that brings in more, on the whole.

If they are the right kind they can make good. If they find anyone who

don't keep her job--for good reasons--they can drop her."

"M'm!" said Mrs. Bell. "Well, it's an interesting experiment. But how

about you? So far you are $410 behind."

"Yes, because my rent's so big. But I cover that by letting the rooms,

you see."

Mrs. Bell considered the orders of this sort. "So far it averages about

$25.00 a week; that's doing well."

"It will be less in summer--much less," Diantha suggested. "Suppose you

call it an average of $15.00."

"Call it $10.00," said her mother ruthlessly. "At that it covers your

deficit and $110 over."

"Which isn't much to live on," Diantha agreed, "but then comes my

special catering, and the lunches."

Here they were quite at sea for a while. But as the months passed, and

the work steadily grew on their hands, Mrs. Bell became more and more

cheerful. She was up with the earliest, took entire charge of the

financial part of the concern, and at last Diantha was able to rest

fully in her afternoon hours. What delighted her most was to see her

mother thrive in the work. Her thin shoulders lifted a little as small

dragging tasks were forgotten and a large growing business substituted.

Her eyes grew bright again, she held her head as she did in her keen

girlhood, and her daughter felt fresh hope and power as she saw already

the benefit of the new method as affecting her nearest and dearest.

All Diantha's friends watched the spread of the work with keenly

sympathetic intent; but to Mrs. Weatherstone it became almost as

fascinating as to the girl herself.

"It's going to be one of the finest businesses in the world!" she said,

"And one of the largest and best paying. Now I'll have a surprise ready

for that girl in the spring, and another next year, if I'm not

mistaken!"

There were long and vivid discussions of the matter between her and her

friends the Pornes, and Mrs. Porne spent more hours in her "drawing

room" than she had for years.

But while these unmentioned surprises were pending, Mrs. Weatherstone

departed to New York--to Europe; and was gone some months. In the

spring she returned, in April--which is late June in Orchardina. She

called upon Diantha and her mother at once, and opened her attack.

"I do hope, Mrs. Bell, that you'll back me up," she said. "You have the

better business head I think, in the financial line."

"She has," Diantha admitted. "She's ten times as good as I am at that;

but she's no more willing to carry obligation than I am, Mrs.

Weatherstone."

"Obligation is one thing--investment is another," said her guest. "I

live on my money--that is, on other people's work. I am a base

capitalist, and you seem to me good material to invest in. So--take it

or leave it--I've brought you an offer."

She then produced from her hand bag some papers, and, from her car

outside, a large object carefully boxed, about the size and shape of a

plate warmer. This being placed on the table before them, was

uncovered, and proved to be a food container of a new model.

"I had one made in Paris," she explained, "and the rest copied here to

save paying duty. Lift it!"

They lifted it in amazement--it was so light.

"Aluminum," she said, proudly, "Silver plated--new process! And bamboo

at the corners you see. All lined and interlined with asbestos, rubber

fittings for silver ware, plate racks, food compartments--see?"

She pulled out drawers, opened little doors, and rapidly laid out a

table service for five.

"It will hold food for five--the average family, you know. For larger

orders you'll have to send more. I had to make _some_ estimate."

"What lovely dishes!" said Diantha.

"Aren't they! Aluminum, silvered! If your washers are careful they

won't get dented, and you can't break 'em."

Mrs. Bell examined the case and all its fittings with eager attention.

"It's the prettiest thing I ever saw," she said. "Look, Diantha; here's

for soup, here's for water--or wine if you want, all your knives and

forks at the side, Japanese napkins up here. Its lovely, but--I should

think--expensive!"

Mrs. Weatherstone smiled. "I've had twenty-five of them made. They

cost, with the fittings, $100 apiece, $2,500. I will rent them to you,

Miss Bell, at a rate of 10 per cent. interest; only $250 a year!"

"It ought to take more," said Mrs. Bell, "there'll be breakage and

waste."

"You can't break them, I tell you," said the cheerful visitor, "and

dents can be smoothed out in any tin shop--you'll have to pay for

it;--will that satisfy you?"

Diantha was looking at her, her eyes deep with gratitude. "I--you know

what I think of you!" she said.

Mrs. Weatherstone laughed. "I'm not through yet," she said. "Look at

my next piece of impudence!" This was only on paper, but the pictures

were amply illuminating.

"I went to several factories," she gleefully explained, "here and

abroad. A Yankee firm built it. It's in my garage now!"

It was a light gasolene motor wagon, the body built like those

old-fashioned moving wagons which were also used for excursions, wherein

the floor of the vehicle was rather narrow, and set low, and the seats

ran lengthwise, widening out over the wheels; only here the wheels were

lower, and in the space under the seats ran a row of lockers opening

outside. Mrs. Weatherstone smiled triumphantly.

"Now, Diantha Bell," she said, "here's something you haven't thought of,

I do believe! This estimable vehicle will carry thirty people inside

easily," and she showed them how each side held twelve, and turn-up

seats accommodated six more; "and outside,"--she showed the lengthwise

picture--"it carries twenty-four containers. If you want to send all

your twenty-five at once, one can go here by the driver.

"Now then. This is not an obligation, Miss Bell, it is another valuable

investment. I'm having more made. I expect to have use for them in a

good many places. This cost pretty near $3,000, and you get it at the

same good interest, for $300 a year. What's more, if you are smart

enough--and I don't doubt you are,--you can buy the whole thing on

installments, same as you mean to with your furniture."

Diantha was dumb, but her mother wasn't. She thanked Mrs. Weatherstone

with a hearty appreciation of her opportune help, but no less of her

excellent investment.

"Don't be a goose, Diantha," she said. "You will set up your food

business in first class style, and I think you can carry it

successfully. But Mrs. Weatherstone's right; she's got a new investment

here that'll pay her better than most others--and be a growing thing I

do believe."

And still Diantha found it difficult to express her feelings. She had

lived under a good deal of strain for many months now, and this sudden

opening out of her plans was a heavenly help indeed.

Mrs. Weatherstone went around the table and sat by her. "Child," said

she, "you don't begin to realize what you've done for me--and for

Isobel--and for ever so many in this town, and all over the world. And

besides, don't you think anybody else can see your dream? We can't _do_

it as you can, but we can see what it's going to mean,--and we'll help

if we can. You wouldn't grudge us that, would you?"

As a result of all this the cooked food delivery service was opened at

once.

"It is true that the tourists are gone, mostly," said Mrs. Weatherstone,

as she urged it, "but you see there are ever so many residents who have

more trouble with servants in summer than they do in winter, and hate to

have a fire in the house, too."

So Diantha's circulars had an addition, forthwith.

These were distributed among the Orchardinians, setting their tongues

wagging anew, as a fresh breeze stirs the eaves of the forest.

The stealthy inroads of lunches and evening refreshments had been

deprecated already; this new kind of servant who wasn't a servant, but

held her head up like anyone else ("They are as independent

as--as--'salesladies,'" said one critic), was also viewed with alarm;

but when even this domestic assistant was to be removed, and a square

case of food and dishes substituted, all Archaic Orchardina was

horrified.

There were plenty of new minds in the place, however; enough to start

Diantha with seven full orders and five partial ones.

Her work at the club was now much easier, thanks to her mother's

assistance, to the smoother running of all the machinery with the

passing of time, and further to the fact that most of her girls were now

working at summer resorts, for shorter hours and higher wages. They

paid for their rooms at the club still, but the work of the house was so

much lightened that each of the employees was given two weeks of

vacation--on full pay.

The lunch department kept on a pretty regular basis from the patronage

of resident business men, and the young manager--in her ambitious

moments--planned for enlarging it in the winter. But during the summer

her whole energies went to perfecting the _menus_ and the service of her

food delivery.

Mrs. Porne was the very first to order. She had been waiting

impatiently for a chance to try the plan, and, with her husband, had the

firmest faith in Diantha's capacity to carry it through.

"We don't save much in money," she explained to the eager Mrs. Ree, who

hovered, fascinated, over the dangerous topic, "but we do in comfort, I

can tell you. You see I had two girls, paid them $12 a week; now I keep

just the one, for $6. My food and fuel for the four of us (I don't

count the babies either time--they remain as before), was all of $16,

often more. That made $28 a week. Now I pay for three meals a day,

delivered, for three of us, $15 a week--with the nurse's wages, $21.

Then I pay a laundress one day, $2, and her two meals, $.50, making

$23.50. Then I have two maids, for an hour a day, to clean; $.50 a day

for six days, $3, and one maid Sunday, $.25. $26.75 in all. So we only

make $1.25.

_But!_ there's another room! We have the cook's room for an extra

guest; I use it most for a sewing room, though and the kitchen is a sort

of day nursery now. The house seems as big again!"

"But the food?" eagerly inquired Mrs. Ree. "Is it as good as your own?

Is it hot and tempting?"

Mrs. Ree was fascinated by the new heresy. As a staunch adherent of the

old Home and Culture Club, and its older ideals, she disapproved of the

undertaking, but her curiosity was keen about it.

Mrs. Porne smiled patiently. "You remember Diantha Bell's cooking I am

sure, Mrs. Ree," she said. "And Julianna used to cook for dinner

parties--when one could get her. My Swede was a very ordinary cook, as

most of these untrained girls are. Do take off your hat and have dinner

with us,--I'll show you," urged Mrs. Porne.

"I--O I mustn't," fluttered the little woman. "They'll expect me at

home--and--surely your--supply--doesn't allow for guests?"

"We'll arrange all that by 'phone," her hostess explained; and she

promptly sent word to the Ree household, then called up Union House and

ordered one extra dinner.

"Is it--I'm dreadfully rude I know, but I'm _so_ interested! Is

it--expensive?"

Mrs. Porne smiled. "Haven't you seen the little circular? Here's one,

'Extra meals to regular patrons 25 cents.' And no more trouble to order

than to tell a maid."

Mrs. Ree had a lively sense of paltering with Satan as she sat down to

the Porne's dinner table. She had seen the delivery wagon drive to the

door, had heard the man deposit something heavy on the back porch, and

was now confronted by a butler's tray at Mrs. Porne's left, whereon

stood a neat square shining object with silvery panels and bamboo

trimmings.

"It's not at all bad looking, is it?" she ventured.

"Not bad enough to spoil one's appetite," Mr. Porne cheerily agreed.

"Open, Sesame! Now you know the worst."

Mrs. Porne opened it, and an inner front was shown, with various small

doors and drawers.

"Do you know what is in it?" asked the guest.

"No, thank goodness, I don't," replied her hostess. "If there's

anything tiresome it is to order meals and always know what's coming!

That's what men get so tired of at restaurants; what they hate so when

their wives ask them what they want for dinner. Now I can enjoy my

dinner at my own table, just as if I was a guest."

"It is--a tax--sometimes," Mrs. Ree admitted, adding hastily, "But one

is glad to do it--to make home attractive."

Mr. Porne's eyes sought his wife's, and love and contentment flashed

between them, as she quietly set upon the table three silvery plates.

"Not silver, surely!" said Mrs. Ree, lifting hers, "Oh, aluminum."

"Aluminum, silver plated," said Mr. Porne. "They've learned how to do

it at last. It's a problem of weight, you see, and breakage. Aluminum

isn't pretty, glass and silver are heavy, but we all love silver, and

there's a pleasant sense of gorgeousness in this outfit."

It did look rather impressive; silver tumblers, silver dishes, the whole

dainty service--and so surprisingly light.

"You see she knows that it is very important to please the eye as well

as the palate," said Mr. Porne. "Now speaking of palates, let us all

keep silent and taste this soup." They did keep silent in supreme

contentment while the soup lasted. Mrs. Ree laid down her spoon with

the air of one roused from a lovely dream.

"Why--why--it's like Paris," she said in an awed tone.

"Isn't it?" Mr. Porne agreed, "and not twice alike in a month, I think."

"Why, there aren't thirty kinds of soup, are there?" she urged.

"I never thought there were when we kept servants," said he. "Three was

about their limit, and greasy, at that."

Mrs. Porne slipped the soup plates back in their place and served the

meat.

"She does not give a fish course, does she?" Mrs. Ree observed.

"Not at the table d'hote price," Mrs. Porne answered. "We never

pretended to have a fish course ourselves--do you?" Mrs. Ree did not,

and eagerly disclaimed any desire for fish. The meat was roast beef,

thinly sliced, hot and juicy.

"Don't you miss the carving, Mr. Porne?" asked the visitor. "I do so

love to see a man at the head of his own table, carving."

"I do miss it, Mrs. Ree. I miss it every day of my life with devout

thankfulness. I never was a good carver, so it was no pleasure to me to

show off; and to tell you the truth, when I come to the table, I like to

eat--not saw wood." And Mr. Porne ate with every appearance of

satisfaction.

"We never get roast beef like this I'm sure," Mrs. Ree admitted, "we

can't get it small enough for our family."

"And a little roast is always spoiled in the cooking. Yes this is far

better than we used to have," agreed her hostess.

Mrs. Ree enjoyed every mouthful of her meal. The soup was hot. The

salad was crisp and the ice cream hard. There was sponge cake, thick,

light, with sugar freckles on the dark crust. The coffee was perfect

and almost burned the tongue.

"I don't understand about the heat and cold," she said; and they showed

her the asbestos-lined compartments and perfectly fitting places for

each dish and plate. Everything went back out of sight; small leavings

in a special drawer, knives and forks held firmly by rubber fittings,

nothing that shook or rattled. And the case was set back by the door

where the man called for it at eight o'clock.

"She doesn't furnish table linen?"

"No, there are Japanese napkins at the top here. We like our own

napkins, and we didn't use a cloth, anyway."

"And how about silver?"

"We put ours away. This plated ware they furnish is perfectly good. We

could use ours of course if we wanted to wash it. Some do that and some

have their own case marked, and their own silver in it, but it's a good

deal of risk, I think, though they are extremely careful."

Mrs. Ree experienced peculiarly mixed feelings. As far as food went,

she had never eaten a better dinner. But her sense of Domestic

Aesthetics was jarred.

"It certainly tastes good," she said. "Delicious, in fact. I am

extremely obliged to you, Mrs. Porne, I'd no idea it could be sent so

far and be so good. And only five dollars a week, you say?"

"For each person, yes."

"I don't see how she does it. All those cases and dishes, and the

delivery wagon!"

That was the universal comment in Orchardina circles as the months

passed and Union House continued in existence--"I don't see how she does

it!"

THE WAITING-ROOM

The Waiting-room. With row on row

Of silent strangers sitting idly there,

In a large place expressionless and bare,

Waiting for trains to take them other-where;

And worst for children, who don't even know

Where they're to go.

The Waiting-room. Dull pallid Patients here,

Stale magazines, cheap books, a dreary place;

Each Silent Stranger, with averted face,

Waiting for Some One Else to help his case;

and worst for children, wondering in fear

Who will appear.