Then Mrs. Boydon-Spoute got up--you know how that woman loves to
hear herself talk--and said that such demands were outrageous. (It's
easy for her to raise objections. She has somehow paralysed her two
servants into staying with her for over ten years.) She pointed out
that under such conditions the servant would have more freedom than
the mistress; and to allow the working classes to thus get the upper
hand was nothing short of encouraging Bolshevism in the home. Dreadful
thing to say, wasn't it?

The servants got rather restive at that. When I thought of the two
days' washing-up waiting for me at home I retorted with spirit that
servants had as much right to freedom as we, and it was our duty to
guard their interests--and lots of inspired things like that, glaring
at Mrs. Boydon-Spoute the while.

I spoke so well that a cook-general offered herself to me as soon as
the conference was over. She comes in on Monday.

Yours in transports, DODO.


_Puddleford_.

DEAR MOIRA,--Emma, the new maid, has arrived. Harry is as relieved
as I am and was quite cheerful while I was dressing the gash he had
inflicted on his hand while chopping wood. Isn't it strange that men
can never give the slightest assistance in the house without getting
themselves hurt in some way?