o 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!"

"And everyone just as well pleased," he said, in real admiration. "I
congratulate you."

"It's only what we are all taught at college," Justine assured him.
"I'm just doing what they told me to! It's my business."

"It's pretty big business, and it's been waiting a long while," said
Kane Salisbury.

When Mrs. Salisbury began to get well, she began to get very hungry.
This was plain sailing for Justine, and she put her whole heart into
the dainty trays that went upstairs three times a day. While she was
enjoying them, Mrs. Salisbury liked to draw out her clever maid, and
the older woman and the young one had many a pleasant talk together.
Justine told her mistress that she had been country-born and bred, and
had grown up with a country girl's longing for nice surroundings and
education of the better sort.

"My name is not Justine at all," she said smilingly, "nor Harrison,
either, although I chose it because I have cousins of that name. We are
all given names when we go to college and take them with us. Until the
work is recognized, as it must be some day, as dignified and even
artistic, we are advised to sink our own