296 THE FAT OF THE LAND 



I am fully persuaded that all the moneys paid to 

 a really good cook are moneys put into the bank. 

 I often make trips to the kitchen to tell Mary 

 that " the dinner was great," or that " Mrs. 

 Kyrle wants the receipt for that pudding," or 

 that " my friend Kyrle asks if he may see you 

 make a salad dressing ; " but " don't do it, Mary ; 

 let the secret die with you." The cook cackles, 

 like the guinea-hen that she is, but the dishes are 

 none the worse for the commendation. 



The laundress is just a washerwoman, so far 

 as I know. She undoubtedly changes with the 

 seasons, but I do not see her, though the clothes 

 are always bleaching on the grass at the back of 

 the house. 



The maids are as changeable as old-fashioned 

 silk. There are always two of them ; but which 

 two, is beyond me. I tell Polly that Four Oaks 

 is a sprocket-wheel for maids, with two links of 

 an endless chain always on top. It makes but 

 little difference which links are up, so the work 

 goes smoothly. Polly thinks the maids come 

 to Four Oaks just as less independent folk go to 

 the mountains or the shore, for a vacation, or 

 to be able to say to the policeman, " I've been to 

 the country." Their system is past finding out ; 

 but no matter what it is, we get our dishes 

 washed and our beds made without serious in- 

 convenience. The wage account in the house 

 amounts to just 125 a week. My pet system of 

 an increasing wage for protracted service doesn't 



