the HUBBARDS' butler, for the HUBBARDS are able to afford a butler
now. How different from the time when Old Mother Hubbard--called "old"
because she was at least twenty-two, and "mother" because she had a
passion for children--could not even find a bone for her faithful
terrier; but, of course, that was before HENRY went into work. Well,
the tall figure is JAMES, the butler, and the little one is ROSEMARY,
a friend of the HUBBARD FAMILY. ROSEMARY is going in for literature
this afternoon, as it's raining, and JAMES is making her quite
comfortable first with pens and ink and blotting-paper--always so
important when one wants to write. He has even thought of a stick of
violet sealing-wax; after that there can be no excuse.

ROSEMARY. Thank you, James. (She sits down.) If any one calls I am not
at home.

JAMES. Yes, Miss.

ROSEMARY. You may add that I am engaged in writing my
auto--autobiography.

JAMES. Yes, Miss.

ROSEMARY. It's what every one writes, isn't it, James?

JAMES. I believe so, Miss.

ROSEMARY. Thank you. (He goes to the door.) Oh, James?

JAMES. Yes, Miss?