things. Also housework."

"Housework!" I echoed, feebly.

"Naturlich. A little dusting, a little scrubbing,
a little sweeping, a little cooking. The finest kind of
indoor exercise. Later you may write a little--but very
little. Run and play out of doors with the children.
When I see you again you will have roses in your cheeks
like the German girls, yes?"

"Yes," I echoed, meekly, "I wonder how Frieda will
like my elephantine efforts at assisting with the
housework. If she gives notice, Norah will be lost to
you."

But Frieda did not give notice. After I had helped
her clean the kitchen and the pantry I noticed an
expression of deepest pity overspreading her lumpy
features. The expression became almost one of agony as
she watched me roll out some noodles for soup, and delve
into the sticky mysteries of a new kind of cake.

Max says that for a poor working girl who
hasn't had time to cultivate the domestic graces, my
cakes are a distinct triumph. Sis sniffs at that, and
mutters something about cups of raisins and nuts and
citron hiding a multitude of batter sins. She never
allows the Spalpeens to eat my cakes, and on my baking
days they are usually sent from the table howling. Norah