Mrs. Brewster laughed merrily. "Why, Sary, since I left Denver, my friends all have shades in the windows that run up and down on springs without any other help. They go by themselves." "Now, Miss Brewster! Do _you_ believe that fairy-tale?" quizzed Sary, looking keenly at her mistress to see if she was trying to laugh at her ignorance of city-life. "It is a fact, Sary--not a fairy-tale. My friend has them all through her house, and I expect to replace these pulleys with spring rollers, some day." Sary passed her hand over the lustra design on the shade and Mrs. Brewster turned to leave the room. Before she closed the door, she said: "I'm going to start dinner, Sary. When you are ready you can join me in the kitchen." The moment the mistress was gone, Sary ran to make sure the door was securely closed. Then she turned to inspect the belongings of the room. "Huh! the press ain't so much--plain deal painted brown." The press was passed by the scornful occupant of the room, and the bed next came under her appraising eye. "Th' bed's soft wood, too, but it feels comfertible." Sary sat on the bed and bounced up and down to test the springs and mattress before she pulled back the covers to examine the quality of filling in the ticking. "Laws! It hain't corn-husks, a-tall! It's soft as down!" Inborn curiosity compelled her to take a hairpin and rip open a bit of the seam. To her amazement she pulled out a tangle of long whitish hair. "Of all things! And _this_ is what I hev to sleep on!" ejaculated the insulted maid. "Wall, we'll see about that!" The sheets and newly patched quilt were designated as "ornery" but the printed spread, patterned to imitate blue torchon lace, drew a murmur of admiration from the woman. Sary quickly changed her robe of mourning to a calico house-dress and went out, determined to speak her mind about that awful mattress! She never thought such a rich man's house would have so common a thing as "combin's"--even if it was in the "help's" tick! But the wonderful odor of boiling cabbage made her forget her complaint for the time being. She went to the stove and lifted a lid from the large kettle. She sniffed audibly. "Um! Ah loves cabbige soup, Miss Brewster!" "Do you, Sary--so does Mr. Brewster. If you will watch the meat frying, I will blow the horn to call the men to dinner." Mrs. Brewster waited until Sary began thickening the gravy, then she took the horn and stood upon the door-step, blowing it several times. It was then hung back of the kitchen door again. "Polly! Come now, dear, and wash up for dinner," called Mrs. Brewster, standing in the doorway that led to the family living-room. Presently, the family, augmented by Sary, sat down in the kitchen for dinner. Jeb, the hired man, had followed in after his master, and had been introduced to the new help; he now watched her capable hands and arms as she swung the soup-kettle from the stove. "Just a moment, Sary!" whispered Mrs. Brewster, warningly.