all helped to form a picture wonderfully restful and reassuring in
troubled days.

Alexandra, tired with a long vigil in the sick room, liked to slip
down late at night, to find Justine putting the last touches to the
day's good work. A clean checked towel would be laid over the
rising, snowy mound of dough; the bubbling oatmeal was locked in the
fireless cooker, doors were bolted, window shades drawn. There was
an admirable precision about every move the girl made.

The two young women liked to chat together, and sometimes, when some
important message took her to Justine's door in the evening,
Alexandra would linger, pleasantly affected by the trim little
apartment, the roses in a glass vase, Justine's book lying open-
faced on the bed, or her unfinished letter waiting on the table. For
all exterior signs, at these times, she might have been a guest in
the house.

Promptly, on every Saturday evening, the Treasure presented her
account book to Mr. Salisbury. There was always a small balance,
sometimes five dollars, sometimes one, but Justine evidently had
well digested Dickens' famous formula for peace of mind.

"You're certainly a wonder, Justine!" said the man of the house more
than once. "How do you manage it?"

"Oh, I cut down in dozens of ways," the girl returned, with her
grave smile. "You don't notice it, but I know. You have kidney
stews, and onion soups, and cherry pies, instead of melons and
steaks and ice-cream, that's all!"