“Jack is right. We cannot manage,” she cried again, and then burst into a flood of tears. I was vainly trying to cheer her when the door opened and our dear old friend Mrs. Travers, whom we all call Aunt Jane, entered. “Oh, my dears,” she cried, in dismay, “you have bad news from your mother!” I hastened to reassure her, while Cecilly cried out— “Yes, the news is bad, Aunt Jane. He will never be well again, and we can’t help him.” Then I told her mother’s words, and all about our idea that had come to nothing. “Why should your idea come to nothing?” she asked, and when we both asked her at once if she really thought we could manage, and she answered, “If you can face plenty of hard work, of course you can,” Cecilly rushed at her to hug her in her joy. “Sit down, you scatter-brain,” said the dear old lady, “and we will then talk seriously. There can be no doubt that you will save considerably if you do send away the servants, but the necessary work you will find very hard, far harder than you can yet imagine, especially at first. I speak from experience, my dears, for my early married days were spent in Canada, and there I learnt to use my hands. I have known many girls and women as gentle and refined as any English lady, doing the entire work not only of a house, but helping husband, brother or father with poultry or dairy as well. And if our sisters in the Colonies can do without hired help, why can’t we here? There is nothing so healthy as housework. Have your windows open while you work, and there will be no need for any more bicycle rides. The question is, Are you really prepared for hard work? Can you face the early rising, the spoiling of pretty white hands, a good many backaches, and a great many irksome duties?” “Of course we can!” we cried at once. “If only we can give father this chance, we will face anything!” “Then, my dears, the first thing is to give the servants notice.” “Luckily, Aunt Jane, Ann is going; she is only staying on till we knew when mother would be back.” “And I know of a place that would suit cook beautifully,” said Cecilly. “That’s well,” said Aunt Jane, “they are easily disposed of. When they are gone, you must find a little girl.” “No, no!” we both called out. “We will do everything ourselves.” “Hear me out, my dears,” said Aunt Jane quietly, “and then raise your objections. I say you must have a girl just for one hour in the morning to clean the boots.” “Oh, I had forgotten the boots!” sighed Cecilly. “I would have said a boot-boy, but a girl can clean your doorsteps, for you must not do that.” “Why not?” asked Cecilly. “I see nothing to be ashamed of in any work.” “Neither do I, my dear; but your mother would object to that, I am sure, and as you must have someone for the boys’ boots, the someone may as well clean your steps.”