“Father is really better,” mother wrote, but even as we gave our shout of joy, Jack read these words: “but the improvement comes too late—our funds are nearly exhausted, and we must soon turn our faces homewards. The doctors say if only he could stay on for another few months, they are certain of his recovery. But that cannot be, and God knows what is best for us always.” Again and again we asked ourselves what it was possible for us to do to keep him in Cannes, but there seemed no way. Cecilly had found a few pupils for music when dear father had first been ill, and she had left no stone unturned in trying to get more, but in vain. I too had sought for employment, but beyond going to read to an old lady two afternoons in each week, I had been unable to find any. Jack was in a solicitor’s office, and already was filling up every spare hour with extra work, while Bob and Phil were still at school. Everything of value our home possessed had already been parted with for the journey, so that it was no wonder we cried out in despair. “Can’t we give up meat?” Bob asked at dinner that evening. “Kitty is always moaning over the butcher’s bill.” “Is it likely you can give up meat,” Jack answered crossly, and I said— “We might, but the servants would not.” Then it was that Cecilly had cried out, “Send the servants away. I am sure we could manage without them.” Jack was as indignant with Cecilly as with Bob, but she would not be quieted. “Listen to me and hear reason,” she cried. “We must have money somehow, and here is a way of getting it, or saving it, which is the same thing. Cook’s wages are £20 a year, Ann’s are £16. So in three months we should save £9. Nine hard sovereigns—not counting their keep. Oh, Kitty, what is their keep?” “Quite ten shillings a week each, not counting their washing,” I answered. “And we should save the kitchen fire, except when we are cooking,” said Cecilly. “And the gas,” said Phil. “They flare it away at every burner. I turned it out myself in the scullery last night.” “We should be able to live much more economically, of course,” I said. “One dinner instead of the two we always have to cook now, must be a saving in every way. Oh, Cecilly, what a splendid idea yours is.” “It is all rubbish,” said Jack. “Is it likely mother and father would allow you girls to turn into slaves?” But Cecilly would not be silenced, and if she had her will would have rushed off into the kitchen and dismissed the servants there and then. She was up quite early and off to the stores to buy two or three books she had seen advertised on the subject of “How to manage without servants.” But, as I have said before, the authors had all been able to spend the servants’ wages for a year in labour-saving contrivances. Poor Cecilly had been so excited and hopeful the evening before that she could not endure facing all the difficulties the morning laid before her.