womanhood she had attempted more frequent baths. But the effort
proved disastrous, arousing, first, Sarah's derision, and next,
her wrath. Sarah had crystallized in the era of the weekly
Saturday night bath, and any increase in this cleansing function
was regarded by her as putting on airs and as an insinuation
against her own cleanliness. Also, it was an extravagant misuse
of fuel, and occasioned extra towels in the family wash. But now,
in Billy's house, with her own stove, her own tub and towels and
soap, and no one to say her nay, Saxon was guilty of a daily
orgy. True, it was only a common washtub that she placed on the
kitchen floor and filled by hand; but it was a luxury that had
taken her twenty-four years to achieve. It was from the strange
woman next door that Saxon received a hint, dropped in casual
conversation, of what proved the culminating joy of bathing. A
simple thing--a few drops of druggist's ammonia in the water; but
Saxon had never heard of it before.

She was destined to learn much from the strange woman. The
acquaintance had begun one day when Saxon, in the back yard, was
hanging out a couple of corset covers and several pieces of her
finest undergarments. The woman leaning on the rail of her back
porch, had caught her eye, and nodded, as it seemed to Saxon,
half to her and half to the underlinen on the line.

"You're newly married, aren't you?" the woman asked. "I'm Mrs.
Higgins. I prefer my first name, which is Mercedes."

"And I'm Mrs. Roberts," Saxon replied, thrilling to the newness
of the designation on her tongue. "My first name is Saxon."