What Diantha Did

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It was lovely. The dining-room was cool and flyless. The table was set
with an assured touch. A few of Orchardina's ever ready roses in a
glass bowl gave an air of intended beauty Mrs. Porne had had no time
for.

The food was well-cooked and well-served, and the attendance showed an
intelligent appreciation of when people want things and how they want
them.

Mrs. Porne quite glowed with exultation, but her husband gently
suggested that the newness of the broom was visibly uppermost, and that
such palpable perfections were probably accompanied by some drawbacks.
But he liked her looks, he admitted, and the cooking would cover a
multitude of sins.

On this they rested, while the week went by. It was a full week, and a
short one. Mrs. Porne, making hay while the sun shone, caught up a
little in her sewing and made some conscience-tormenting calls.

When Thursday night came around she was simply running over with
information to give her husband.

"Such a talk as I have had with Miss Bell! She is so queer! But she's
nice too, and it's all reasonable enough, what she says. You know she's
studied this thing all out, and she knows about it--statistics and
things. I was astonished till I found she used to teach school. Just
think of it! And to be willing to work out! She certainly does her
work beautiful, but--it doesn't seem like having a servant at all. I
feel as if I--boarded with her!"

"Why she seemed to me very modest and unpresuming," put in Mr. Porne.

"O yes, she never presumes. But I mean the capable way she manages--I
don't have to tell her one thing, nor to oversee, nor criticize. I
spoke of it and she said, 'If I didn't understand the business I should
have no right to undertake it."

"That's a new point of view, isn't it?" asked her husband. "Don't they
usually make you teach them their trade and charge for the privilege?"

"Yes, of course they do. But then she does have her disadvantages--as
you said."

"Does she? What are they?"

"Why she's so--rigid. I'll read you her--I don't know what to call it.
She's written out a definite proposition as to her staying with us, and
I want you to study it, it's the queerest thing I ever saw."

The document was somewhat novel. A clear statement of the hours of
labor required in the position, the quality and amount of the different
kinds of work; the terms on which she was willing to undertake it, and
all prefaced by a few remarks on the status of household labor which
made Mr. Porne open his eyes.

Thus Miss Bell; "The ordinary rate for labor in this state, unskilled
labor of the ordinary sort, is $2.00 a day. This is in return for the
simplest exertion of brute force, under constant supervision and
direction, and involving no serious risk to the employer."

"Household labor calls for the practice of several distinct crafts, and,
to be properly done, requires thorough training and experience. Its
performer is not only in a position of confidence, as necessarily
entrusted with the care of the employer's goods and with knowledge of
the most intimate family relations; but the work itself, in maintaining
the life and health of the members of the household, is of most vital
importance.

"In consideration of existing economic conditions, however, I am willing
to undertake these intricate and responsible duties for a seven day week
at less wages than are given the street-digger, for $1.50 a day."

"Good gracious, my dear!" said Mr. Porne, laying down the paper, "This
young woman does appreciate her business! And we're to be let off easy
at $45.00 a month, are we"

"And feel under obligations at that!" answered his wife. "But you read
ahead. It is most instructive. We shall have to ask her to read a
paper for the Club!"

"'In further consideration of the conditions of the time, I am willing
to accept part payment in board and lodging instead of cash. Such
accommodations as are usually offered with this position may be rated at
$17.00 a month."

"O come now, don't we board her any better than that?"

"That's what I thought, and I asked her about it, and she explained that
she could get a room as good for a dollar and a-half a week--she had
actually made inquiries in this very town! And she could; really a
better room, better furnished, that is, and service with it. You know
I've always meant to get the girl's room fixed more prettily, but
usually they don't seem to mind. And as to food--you see she knows all
about the cost of things, and the materials she consumes are really not
more than two dollars and a half a week, if they are that. She even
made some figures for me to prove it--see."

Mr. Porne had to laugh.

"Breakfast. Coffee at thirty-five cents per pound, one cup, one cent.
Oatmeal at fourteen cents per package, one bowl, one cent. Bread at
five cents per loaf, two slices, one-half cent. Butter at forty cents
per pound, one piece, one and a-half cents. Oranges at thirty cents per
dozen, one, three cents. Milk at eight cents per quart, on oatmeal, one
cent. Meat or fish or egg, average five cents. Total--thirteen cents."

"There! And she showed me dinner and lunch the same way. I had no idea
food, just the material, cost so little. It's the labor, she says that
makes it cost even in the cheapest restaurant."

"I see," said Mr. Porne. "And in the case of the domestic servant we
furnish the materials and she furnishes the labor. She cooks her own
food and waits on herself--naturally it wouldn't come high. What does
she make it?"

'Food, average per day . . . $0.35
Room, $1.50 per w'k, ave. per day . . . .22
-----
.57

Total, per month . . . $17.10

$1.50 per day, per month . . . $45.00

"'Remaining payable in cash, $28.00.' Do I still live! But my dear
Ellie, that's only what an ordinary first-class cook charges, out here,
without all this fuss!"

"I know it, Ned, but you know we think it's awful, and we're always
telling about their getting their board and lodging clear--as if we
gave'em that out of the goodness of our hearts!"

"Exactly, my dear. And this amazing and arithmetical young woman makes
us feel as if we were giving her wampum instead of money--mere primitive
barter of ancient days in return for her twentieth century services!
How does she do her work--that's the main question."

"I never saw anyone do it better, or quicker, or easier. That is, I
thought it was easy till she brought me this paper. Just read about her
work, and you'll feel as if we ought to pay her all your salary."

Mr. Porne read:

"Labor performed, average ten hours a day, as follows: Preparation of
food materials, care of fires, cooking, table service, and cleaning of
dishes, utensils, towels, stove, etc., per meal--breakfast two hours,
dinner three hours, supper or lunch one hour--six hours per day for food
service. Daily chamber work and dusting, etc., one and one-half hours
per day. Weekly cleaning for house of nine rooms, with halls, stairs,
closets, porches, steps, walks, etc., sweeping, dusting, washing
windows, mopping, scouring, etc., averaging two hours per day. Door
service, waiting on tradesmen, and extras one-half hour per day. Total
ten hours per day."

"That sounds well. Does it take that much time every day?"

"Yes, indeed! It would take me twenty!" she answered. "You know the
week I was here alone I never did half she does. Of course I had Baby,
but then I didn't do the things. I guess when it doesn't take so long
they just don't do what ought to be done. For she is quick, awfully
quick about her work. And she's thorough. I suppose it ought to be
done that way--but I never had one before."

"She keeps mighty fresh and bright-looking after these herculean
labors."

"Yes, but then she rests! Her ten hours are from six-thirty a.m., when
she goes into the kitchen as regularly as a cuckoo clock, to
eight-thirty p.m. when she is all through and her kitchen looks like
a--well it's as clean and orderly as if no one was ever in it."

"Ten hours--that's fourteen."

"I know it, but she takes out four. She claims time to eat her meals."

"Preposterous!"

"Half an hour apiece, and half an hour in the morning to rest--and two
in the afternoon. Anyway she is out, two hours every afternoon, riding
in the electric cars!"

"That don't look like a very hard job. Her day laborer doesn't get two
hours off every afternoon to take excursions into the country!"

"No, I know that, but he doesn't begin so early, nor stop so late. She
does her square ten hours work, and I suppose one has a right to time
off."

"You seem dubious about that, my dear."

"Yes, that's just where it's awkward. I'm used to girls being in all
the time, excepting their day out. You see I can't leave baby, nor
always take him--and it interferes with my freedom afternoons."

"Well--can't you arrange with her somehow?"

"See if you can. She says she will only give ten hours of time for a
dollar and a half a day--tisn't but fifteen cents an hour--I have to pay
a woman twenty that comes in. And if she is to give up her chance of
sunlight and fresh air she wants me to pay her extra--by the hour. Or
she says, if I prefer, she would take four hours every other day--and so
be at home half the time. I said it was difficult to arrange--with
baby, and she was very sympathetic and nice, but she won't alter her
plans."

"Let her go, and get a less exacting servant."

"But--she does her work so well! And it saves a lot, really. She knows
all about marketing and things, and plans the meals so as to have things
lap, and it's a comfort to have her in the house and feel so safe and
sure everything will be done right."

"Well, it's your province, my dear. I don't profess to advise. But I
assure you I appreciate the table, and the cleanness of everything, and
the rested look in your eyes, dear girl!"

She slipped her hand into his affectionately. "It does make a
difference," she said. "I _could_ get a girl for $20.00 and save nearly
$2.60 a week--but you know what they are!"

"I do indeed," he admitted fervently. "It's worth the money to have
this thing done so well. I think she's right about the wages. Better
keep her."

"O--she'll only agree to stay six months even at this rate!"

"Well--keep her six months and be thankful. I thought she was too good
to last!"

They looked over the offered contract again. It closed with:

"This agreement to hold for six months from date if mutually
satisfactory. In case of disagreement two weeks' notice is to be given
on either side, or two weeks' wages if preferred by the employer." It
was dated, and signed "Miss D. C. Bell."

And with inward amusement and great display of penmanship they added
"Mrs. Isabel J. Porne," and the contract was made.

WHAT DIANTHA DID

CHAPTER VI.

THE CYNOSURE.

It's a singular thing that the commonest place
Is the hardest to properly fill;
That the labor imposed on a full half the race
Is so seldom performed with good will--
To say nothing of knowledge or skill!

What we ask of all women, we stare at in one,
And tribute of wonderment bring;
If this task of the million is once fitly done
We all hold our hands up and sing!
It's really a singular thing!

Isabel Porne was a cautious woman, and made no acclaim over her new
acquisition until its value was proven. Her husband also bided his
time; and when congratulated on his improved appearance and air of
contentment, merely vouchsafed that his wife had a new girl who could
cook.

To himself he boasted that he had a new wife who could love--so cheerful
and gay grew Mrs. Porne in the changed atmosphere of her home.

"It is remarkable, Edgar," she said, dilating repeatedly on the peculiar
quality of their good fortune. "It's not only good cooking, and good
waiting, and a clean house--cleaner than I ever saw one before; and it's
not only the quietness, and regularity and economy--why the bills have
gone down more than a third!"

"Yes--even I noticed that," he agreed.

"But what I enjoy the most is the _atmosphere,_" she continued. "When I
have to do the work, the house is a perfect nightmare to me!" She
leaned forward from her low stool, her elbows on her knees, her chin in
her hands, and regarded him intently.

"Edgar! You know I love you. And I love my baby--I'm no unfeeling
monster! But I can tell you frankly that if I'd had any idea of what
housework was like I'd never have given up architecture to try it."

"Lucky for me you hadn't!" said he fondly. "I know it's been hard for
you, little girl. I never meant that you should give up
architecture--that's a business a woman could carry on at home I
thought, the designing part anyway. There's your 'drawing-room' and all
your things--"

"Yes," she said, with reminiscent bitterness, "there they are--and there
they might have stayed, untouched--if Miss Bell hadn't come!"

"Makes you call her "Miss Bell" all the time, does she?"

Mrs. Porne laughed. "Yes. I hated it at first, but she asked if I
could give her any real reason why the cook should be called by her
first name more than the seamstress or governess. I tried to say that
it was shorter, but she smiled and said that in this case it was
longer!--Her name is Diantha--I've seen it on letters. And it is one
syllable longer. Anyhow I've got used to Miss Bell now."

"She gets letters often?"

"Yes--very often--from Topolaya where she came from. I'm afraid she's
engaged." Mrs. Porne sighed ruefully.

"I don't doubt it!" said Mr. Porne. "That would account for her six
months' arrangement! Well, my dear--make hay while the sun shines!"

"I do!" she boasted. "Whole stacks! I've had a seamstress in, and got
all my clothes in order and the baby's. We've had lot of dinner-parties
and teas as you know--all my "social obligations" are cleared off!
We've had your mother for a visit, and mine's coming now--and I wasn't
afraid to have either of them! There's no fault to be found with my
housekeeping now! And there are two things better than that--yes,
three."

"The best thing is to see you look so young and handsome and happy
again," said her husband, with a kiss.

"Yes--that's one. Another is that now I feel so easy and lighthearted I
can love you and baby--as--as I _do!_ Only when I'm tired and
discouraged I can't put my hand on it somehow.

He nodded sympathetically. "I know, dear," he said. "I feel that way
myself--sometimes. What's the other?"

"Why that's best of aIl!" she cried triumphantly. "I can Work again!
When Baby's asleep I get hours at a time; and even when he's awake I've
fixed a place where he can play--and I can draw and plan--just as I used
to--_better_ than I used to!"

"And that is even more to you than loving?" he asked in a quiet
inquiring voice.

"It's more because it means _both!_" She leaned to him, glowing, "Don't
you see? First I had the work and loved it. Then you came--and I loved
you--better! Then Baby came and I loved him--best? I don't know--you
and baby are all one somehow."

There was a brief interim and then she drew back, blushing richly. "Now
stop--I want to explain. When the housework got to be such a
nightmare--and I looked forward to a whole lifetime of it and _no_
improvement; then I just _ached_ for my work--and couldn't do it! And
then--why sometimes dear, I just wanted to run away! Actually! From
_both_ of you!--you see, I spent five years studying--I was a _real_
architect--and it did hurt to see it go. And now--O now I've got It and
You too, darling! _And_ the Baby!--O I'm so happy!"

"Thanks to the Providential Miss Bell," said he. "If she'll stay I'll
pay her anything!"

The months went by.

Peace, order, comfort, cleanliness and economy reigned in the Porne
household, and the lady of the house blossomed into richer beauty and
happiness; her contentment marred only by a sense of flying time.

Miss Bell fulfilled her carefully specified engagement to the letter;
rested her peaceful hour in the morning; walked and rode in the
afternoon; familiarized herself with the length and breadth of the town;
and visited continuously among the servants of the neighborhood,
establishing a large and friendly acquaintance. If she wore rubber
gloves about the rough work, she paid for them herself; and she washed
and ironed her simple and pretty costumes herself--with the result that
they stayed pretty for surprising periods.

She wrote letters long and loving, to Ross daily; to her mother twice a
week; and by the help of her sister's authority succeeded in maintaining
a fairly competent servant in her deserted place.

"Father was bound he wouldn't," her sister wrote her; "but I stood right
up to him, I can now I'm married!--and Gerald too--that he'd no right to
take it out of mother even if he was mad with you. He made a fuss about
your paying for the girl--but that was only showing off--_he_ couldn't
pay for her just now--that's certain. And she does very well--a good
strong girl, and quite devoted to mother." And then she scolded
furiously about her sister's "working out."

Diantha knew just how hard it was for her mother. She had faced all
sides of the question before deciding.

"Your mother misses you badly, of course," Ross wrote her. "I go in as
often as I can and cheer her up a bit. It's not just the work--she
misses you. By the way--so do I." He expressed his views on her new
employment.

Diantha used to cry over her letters quite often. But she would put
them away, dry her eyes, and work on at the plans she was maturing, with
grim courage. "It's hard on them now," she would say to herself. "Its
hard on me--some. But we'll all be better off because of it, and not
only us--but everybody!"

Meanwhile the happy and unhappy households of the fair town buzzed in
comment and grew green with envy.

In social circles and church circles and club circles, as also in
domestic circles, it was noised abroad that Mrs. Edgar Porne had "solved
the servant question." News of this marvel of efficiency and propriety
was discussed in every household, and not only so but in barber-shops
and other downtown meeting places mentioned. Servants gathered it at
dinner-tables; and Diantha, much amused, regathered it from her new
friends among the servants.

Does she keep on just the same?" asked little Mrs. Ree of Mrs. Porne in
an awed whisper.

"Just the same if not better. I don't even order the meals now, unless
I want something especial. She keeps a calendar of what we've had to
eat, and what belongs to the time of year, prices and things. When I
used to ask her to suggest (one does, you know: it is so hard to think
up a variety!), she'd always be ready with an idea, or remind me that we
had had so and so two days before, till I asked her if she'd like to
order, and she said she'd be willing to try, and now I just sit down to
the table without knowing what's going to be there."

"But I should think that would interfere with your sense of freedom,"
said Mrs. Ellen A Dankshire, "A woman should be mistress of her own
household."

"Why I am! I order whenever I specially want anything. But she really
does it more--more scientifically. She has made a study of it. And the
bills are very much lower."

"Well, I think you are the luckiest woman alive!" sighed Mrs. Ree. "I
wish I had her!"

Many a woman wished she had her, and some, calling when they knew Mrs.
Porne was out, or descending into their own kitchens of an evening when
the strange Miss Bell was visiting "the help," made flattering
propositions to her to come to them. She was perfectly polite and
agreeable in manner, but refused all blandishments.

"What are you getting at your present place--if I may ask?" loftily
inquired the great Mrs. Thaddler, ponderous and beaded.

"There is surely no objection to your asking, madam," she replied
politely. "Mrs. Porne will not mind telling you, I am sure."

"Hm!" said the patronizing visitor, regarding her through her lorgnette.
"Very good. Whatever it is I'll double it. When can you come?"

"My engagement with Mrs. Porne is for six months," Diantha answered,
"and I do not wish to close with anyone else until that time is up.
Thank you for your offer just the same."

"Peculiarly offensive young person!" said Mrs. Thaddler to her husband.
"Looks to me like one of these literary imposters. Mrs. Porne will
probably appear in the magazines before long."

Mr. Thaddler instantly conceived a liking for the young person, "sight
unseen."

Diantha acquired quite a list of offers; places open to her as soon as
she was free; at prices from her present seven dollars up to the
proposed doubling.

"Fourteen dollars a week and found!--that's not so bad," she meditated.
"That would mean over $650 clear in a year! It's a wonder to me girls
don't try it long enough to get a start at something else. With even
two or three hundred ahead--and an outfit--it would be easier to make
good in a store or any other way. Well--I have other fish to fry!"

So she pursued her way; and, with Mrs. Porne's permission--held a sort
of girl's club in her spotless kitchen one evening a week during the
last three months of her engagement. It was a "Study and Amusement
Club." She gave them short and interesting lessons in arithmetic, in
simple dressmaking, in easy and thorough methods of housework. She gave
them lists of books, referred them to articles in magazines, insidiously
taught them to use the Public Library.

They played pleasant games in the second hour, and grew well acquainted.
To the eye or ear of any casual visitor it was the simplest and most
natural affair, calculated to "elevate labor" and to make home happy.

Diantha studied and observed. They brought her their poor confidences,
painfully similar. Always poverty--or they would not be there. Always
ignorance, or they would not stay there. Then either incompetence in
the work, or inability to hold their little earnings--or both; and
further the Tale of the Other Side--the exactions and restrictions of
the untrained mistresses they served; cases of withheld wages; cases of
endless requirements; cases of most arbitrary interference with their
receiving friends and "followers," or going out; and cases, common
enough to be horrible, of insult they could only escape by leaving.

"It's no wages, of course--and no recommendation, when you leave like
that--but what else can a girl do, if she's honest?"

So Diantha learned, made friends and laid broad foundations.

The excellence of her cocking was known to many, thanks to the weekly
"entertainments." No one refused. No one regretted acceptance. Never
had Mrs. Porne enjoyed such a sense of social importance.

All the people she ever knew called on her afresh, and people she never
knew called on her even more freshly. Not that she was directly
responsible for it. She had not triumphed cruelly over her less happy
friends; nor had she cried aloud on the street corners concerning her
good fortune. It was not her fault, nor, in truth anyone's. But in a
community where the "servant question" is even more vexed than in the
country at large, where the local product is quite unequal to the
demand, and where distance makes importation an expensive matter, the
fact of one woman's having, as it appeared, settled this vexed question,
was enough to give her prominence.

Mrs. Ellen A. Dankshire, President of the Orchardina Home and Culture
Club, took up the matter seriously.

"Now Mrs. Porne," said she, settling herself vigorously into a
comfortable chair, "I just want to talk the matter over with you, with a
view to the club. We do not know how long this will last--"

"Don't speak of it!" said Mrs. Porne.

"--and it behooves us to study the facts while we have them."

"So much is involved!" said little Mrs. Ree, the Corresponding
Secretary, lifting her pale earnest face with the perplexed fine lines
in it. "We are all so truly convinced of the sacredness of the home
duties!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" asked their hostess.

"We must have that remarkable young woman address our club!" Mrs.
Dankshire announced. "It is one case in a thousand, and must be
studied!"

"So noble of her!" said Mrs. Ree. "You say she was really a
school-teacher? Mrs. Thaddler has put it about that she is one of these
dreadful writing persons--in disguise!"

"O no," said Mrs. Porne. "She is perfectly straightforward about it,
and had the best of recommendations. She was a teacher, but it didn't
agree with her health, I believe."

"Perhaps there is a story to it!" Mrs. Ree advanced; but Mrs. Dankshire
disagreed with her flatly.

"The young woman has a theory, I believe, and she is working it out. I
respect her for it. Now what we want to ask you, Mrs. Porne, is this:
do you think it would make any trouble for you--in the household
relations, you know--if we ask her to read a paper to the Club? Of
course we do not wish to interfere, but it is a remarkable
opportunity--very. You know the fine work Miss Lucy Salmon has done on
this subject; and Miss Frances Kellor. You know how little data we
have, and how great, how serious, a question it is daily becoming! Now
here is a young woman of brains and culture who has apparently grappled
with the question; her example and influence must not be lost! We must
hear from her. The public must know of this."

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