P. S. Some days, when you don’t feel well, it is hard to think of the menu, so I would advise you, whenever you have tried a receipt and found it good, to write in a blank book, kept for the purpose, the name of the dish, the title of the cookery book, and the page on which you found the receipt; thus: “_Fish pudding_, Mary Ronald’s Century Cook-Book, page 123.” Before you know it you will have a book, not of receipts, but of suggestions, which will tell you just where to look for the sort of dish you want for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. In order to make it perfectly easy to turn at once to any especial dish, divide the blank book, before you make any entries in it, into as many sections as may be convenient, leaving several pages to each section: So many pages for _relishes_ So many pages for _soups without meat_ So many pages for _meat soups_ So many pages for _fish soups_ So many pages for _fish receipts_ So many pages for _entrées_ So many pages for _meats_ So many pages for _vegetables_ So many pages for _salads_ So many pages for _desserts_ So many pages for _lunch dishes_ So many pages for _breads and cakes_ So many pages for _eggs_ Can’t you imagine the relief such a book would be in an emergency and how valuable it would become after a while because it has references only to tried receipts? Devotedly yours, _Jane Prince_. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER II ⬩ THE BUDGET YORK HARBOR, _July 30_. _Dear Penelope_: Your letter came this morning and you needn’t apologize at all for writing me again so soon, for I am always delighted to hear from you. It is very evident that you have an attack of the blues, so I am writing you at once—now that I have a little spare time—to see if I can’t help you out of them as quickly as possible. Being terribly busy this week you must forgive me if I plunge at once into the subject and end when I have said my say, without any bits of gossip to enliven the letter. I will tell the girls to write you all the latest news. It isn’t at all surprising that you feel as though economy were drudgery when you are simply trying to live on just as little as you can with no other object in view. What Dr. Richard Cabot says in his book that you and I read together is so true, “_Work_ is doing what you don’t now enjoy for the sake of a future which you clearly see and desire. _Drudgery_ is doing under strain what you don’t now enjoy and for no end that you can appreciate.”