In the first place, she went to town and secured a trunk full of silver from the safety vault, and then spent two nights in a fever of anxiety, because for safe-keeping she had put the trunk under her bed. She unpacked draperies from the attic chests, crowded all the ornaments into the three rooms she expected to use, the dining room, living-room, and den, before it occurred to her that if she was to have a luncheon of many courses in the dining room she must also have a waitress, or preferably two, to match the splendid silver service. Where were waitresses to be found? After spending a hot and weary morning scouring the neighbourhood, she finally discovered that the niece of a near-by German truck farmer had “waited,” and the eldest daughter of the family who worked on the adjoining place would like “to learn”; so, telling them to come early the next morning to be instructed, she repaired to Bridgeton for white aprons and caps, as she found that both girls owned decent black gowns. It must be confessed that the dining room had a very high-bred and elegant air when the round table was spread with a lace-edged cloth, its load of silver, cut glass, and candelabra with delicate green candles to match the fern decorations. (Then, of course, it was necessary to draw in the blinds, both to keep out the glare and give the candles a chance.) The German girl’s name was Gertie, and her American assistant, apparently without good and sufficient reason, was called Sapphira. The latter slipped into her costume with comparative ease, but poor Gertie was innocent of corsets, and the apron bands and strings vanished entirely at the waist line, causing the staying of the apron in position to appear a feat of legerdemain. This would not do, so Marjory rummaged out a pair of old stays of her own, into which she coaxed the abundant but soft flesh of Gertie, who looked on in dumb astonishment, only saying at the end, “Ver ist, where has gone me?” “Inside, I suppose,” answered Marjory, laughing; “for I’m sure none of it has come off.” On seeing the preparations for artificial light, Sapphira asked confidingly: “Say, Ma’am, you must freckle awful easy. I wouldn’t have thought it here indoors, though; Ma does, something awful, so I’ve knit her wash cotton gloves to wear when she hangs out the clothes.” When the two girls seemed to understand their duties, Marjory wisely desisted, and left her instructions to sink in, her parting word being that neither one was to speak unless she addressed her. Marjory had thought of borrowing the Lathams’ motor to go to the train; she could not force herself to that length, however, and compromised by sending Peter with the buggy instead of going herself, while she put on one of her trousseau gowns of mull and lace instead of the youthful duck skirt and linen blouse of every day, which, though it added several inches to her height, added ten years to her age.