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“Howdy-do, folks?” said the new-comer, easily, dropping upon the steps and fanning herself with the limp handkerchief. “I don’t wonder you keep a motor-car; it’s something fierce walking down here! I could of waited,” she went on thoughtfully, “and had my brother brought me down in the machine, but I hadn’t no idea it was so far. I saw your ad in the paper,” she went on, addressing Mrs. Tressady directly, with a sort of trusting simplicity that was rather pretty, “and I thought you might like me for your girl.”

“Well,–” began Molly, entirely at a loss, for until this second no suspicion of the young woman’s errand had occurred to her. She dared not look at husband or guests; she fixed her eyes seriously upon the would-be nurse.

“Of course I wouldn’t work for everybody,” said the new-comer hastily and proudly. “I never worked before and mamma thinks I’m crazy to work now, but I don’t think that taking care of a child is anything to be ashamed of!” The blue eyes flashed dramatically–she evidently enjoyed this speech. “And what’s more, I don’t expect any one of my friends to shun me or treat me any different because I’m a servant–that is, so long as I act like a lady,” she finished in a lower tone. A sound from the hammock warned Mrs. Tressady; and suggesting in a somewhat unsteady voice that they talk the matter over indoors, she led the new maid out of sight.

For some twenty minutes the trio on the porch heard the steady rise and fall of voices indoors; then Molly appeared and asked her husband in a rather dissatisfied voice what he thought.

“Why, it’s what you think, dear. How’s she seem?”

“She’s competent enough–seems to know all about children, and I think she’d be strong and willing. She’s clean as a pink, too. And she’d come for thirty and would be perfectly contented, because she lives right near here–that house just before you come to Emville which says Chickens and Carpentering Done Here–don’t you know? She has a widowed sister who would come and stay with her at night when we’re away.” Mrs. Tressady summed it up slowly.

“Why not try her then, dear? By the way, what’s her name?”

“Darling–Belle Darling.”

“Tell her I’m English,” said Mr. Porter, rapturously, “and that over there we call servants–“

“No, but Jerry,”–Mrs. Tressady was serious,–“would you? She’s so utterly untrained. That’s the one thing against her. She hasn’t the faintest idea of the way a servant should act. She told me she just loved the way I wore my hair, and she said she wanted me to meet her friend. Then she asked me, ‘Who’d you name him Timothy for?'”

“Oh, you’d tame her fast enough. Just begin by snubbing her every chance you get–“

“I see it!” laughed Mrs. Porter, for Mrs. Tressady was a woman full of theories about the sisterhood of woman, about equality, about a fair chance for every one–and had never been known to hurt any one’s feelings in the entire course of her life.

Just here Belle stepped through one of the drawing-room French windows, with dewy, delicious Timothy, in faded pale-blue sleeping-wear, in her arms.

“This darling little feller was crying,” said Belle, “and I guess he wants some din-din–don’t you, lover? Shall I step out and tell one of those Chinese boys to get it? Listen! From now on I’ll have mamma save all the banty eggs for you, Timmy, and some day I’ll take you down there and show you the rabbits, darling. Would you like that?”

Molly glanced helplessly at her husband.

“How soon could you come, Belle?” asked Jerry, and that settled it. He had interpreted his wife’s look and assumed the responsibility. Molly found herself glad.

Belle came two days later, with every evidence of content. It soon became evident that she had adopted the family and considered herself adopted in turn. Her buoyant voice seemed to leap out of every opened door. She rose above her duties and floated along on a constant stream of joyous talk.