"I tried to be, but she almost insisted; she has set her heart upon
being our maid."

"Does she know how to be a maid?"

"No, but she is extremely teachable, she says."

"I have my doubts," remarked Francesca; "a liking for personal
service is not a distinguishing characteristic of New Englanders;
they are not the stuff of which maids are made. If she were French
or German or Senegambian, in fact anything but a Saleminian, we
might use her; we have always said we needed some one."

Salemina brightened. "I thought myself it might be rather nice--
that is, I thought it might be a way out of the difficulty.
Penelope had thought at one time of bringing a maid, and it would
save us a great deal of trouble. The doctor thinks she could travel
a short distance in a few days; perhaps it is a Providence in
disguise."

"The disguise is perfect," murmured Francesca.

"You see," Salemina continued, "when the poor thing tottered along
the wharf the stewardess laid her on the pile of wool sacks-"

"Like a dying Chancellor," again interpolated the irrepressible.

"And ran off to help another passenger. When she opened her eyes,
she saw straight in front of her, in huge letters, 'Salem, Mass.,
U.S.A.' It loomed before her despairing vision, I suppose, like a