"I’m in a hole, Mrs. Slawson." He paused, hesitated, then colored. "I say I’m in a hole—really it’s Miss Crewe. My difficulty is, I want to help her out, and, up to date, haven’t been able. Madam Crewe is fretting herself into a fever because the fruit on the place is going to waste. Confound it! She’s making Miss Crewe’s life miserable, teasing her to ’do it up.’ Miss Crewe doesn’t know how to do it up, she tells me, and, there you are!" "What about Eunice Youngs? The girl I got to _accommodate_ for’m, at four dollars per," inquired Mrs. Slawson. The doctor laughed. "Nothing doing, I gather, else Miss Crewe wouldn’t be in so deep. This morning I managed to kidnap her—Miss Crewe, not Eunice. Took her for a drive. She needs fresh air and change. I took her to Mrs. Peckett’s, because I knew Mrs. Peckett boasts she’s the best housekeeper in New England." Martha folded her arms across her bosom, and half closed her eyes. "’If I do say it as shouldn’t,’" she repeated in Mrs. Peckett’s fat, self-satisfied voice. "’If I do say it as shouldn’t, no one can beat me on jells and perserves. My jells and perserves have took first prize at the country fair, as far back as I can remember.’ I ran in oncet to ask, would she give me a helpin’ hand, or, rather, a helpin’ tongue, on the perserve question. ’Why, certaintly,’ says she. ’I’m always delighted to oblige, I’m sure. My rule is simple as ABC. There’s no art in it at all. It’s just _my_ way o’ doin’, I s’pose, for every time I give my rule to anybody else, it never comes out right.’ An’ then she give me her rule, an’ I knew the reason why. "’You take what you’re goin’ to jar, and you wash it, if it’s berries, or pare an’ cut up if it’s pit-fruit. Add water, an’ set on the stove in a kettle till you come to a boil. Add sugar an’——’ "’How much sugar?’ says I. "’Accordin’ to conscience,’ she says. "’How about if you haven’t got a conscience?’ I says. Mrs. Peckett looked like she’d drop in her tracks with shock. ’Why, _Mrs. Slawson_!’ says she, ’everybody’s got a conscience.’ "’Oh,’ I says. ’You see, comin’ from the city I didn’t know. I suppose some keeps theirs just to measure by, when they’re puttin’ up fruit,’ for I was tired o’ seein’ her dodge from the table to the stove, always tryin’ to shut me off from seein’ how she done things. As if she couldn’t o’ refused firstoff, if she didn’t want to help. _I_ wouldn’t ’a’ minded. If she done the same to Miss Katherine, I don’t wonder she’s just about where she was before—in the same old hole." "That’s just where she is," Dr. Ballard admitted. "Have you any suggestions for getting her out?"