MAIDS AND MALLARDS 295 
Two of our house servants were more or less 
permanent; that is, they had been with us since 
we opened the house, and were as content as 
restless spirits can be. These were the house- 
keeper and the cook,—the hub of the house. 
The former is a Norwegian, tall, angular, and 
capable, with a knot of yellow hair at the back 
of her head, — ostensibly for sticking lead pencils 
into, — and a disposition to keep things snug and 
clean. Her duties include the general supervi- 
sion of both houses and the special charge of 
store-rooms, food cellars, and table supplies of all 
sorts. She is efficient, she whistles while she 
works, and I see but little of her. I suspect that 
Polly knows her well. 
The cook, Mary, is small, Irish, gray, with the 
temper of a pepper-pod and the voice of a guinea- 
hen suffering from bronchitis, but she can cook 
like an angel. She is an artist, and I feel as if 
the seven-dollar-a-week stipend were but a “tip” 
to her, and that sometime she will present me 
with a bill for her services. My safeguard, and 
one that I cherish, is an angry word from her 
to the housekeeper. She jeeringly asserted that 
she, the cook, got $2 a week more than she, 
the housekeeper, did. As every one knows that 
the housekeeper has $5 a week, I am holding 
this evidence against the time when Mary asks 
for a lump sum adequate to her deserts. The 
number of things which Mary can make out of 
everything and out of nothing is wonderful; and 
