hold on to her and train her, she might be a treasure, but there's no
telling what John will say. I won't tell him anything about her, if I can
help it, till the dinner is over."

Aloud she said: "Oh, that won't be necessary. I've got a white apron I'll
lend you--perhaps I'll give it to you if you do your work well. Then we
can fix up some kind of a waitress's cap out of a lace-edged handkerchief,
and you'll look fine. I'd rather do that and have you come right along
home with me, for everything is at sixes at sevens. Betty went off without
washing the breakfast dishes. You can wash dishes, any way."

"Why, I can try," laughed the girl, the ridiculousness of her present
situation suddenly getting the better of other emotions.

And so they got into a car and were whirled away into a pretty suburb. The
woman, whose name was Mrs. Hart, lived in a common little house filled
with imitation oriental rugs and cheap furniture.

The two went to work at once, bringing order out of the confusion that
reigned in the tiny kitchen. In the afternoon the would-be waitress sat
down with a box of water-colors to paint dinner-cards, and as her skilful
brush brought into being dainty landscapes, lovely flowers, and little
brown birds, she pondered the strangeness of her lot.

The table the next night was laid with exquisite care, the scant supply of
flowers having been used to best advantage, and everything showing the
touch of a skilled hand. The long hours that Mrs. Hart had spent
puckering her brow over the household department of fashion magazines
helped her to recognize the fact that in her new maid she had what she was
pleased to call "the real thing."