“We are weak!” said the Sticks, and men broke them;       “We are weak!” said the Threads, and were torn;
     Till new thoughts came and they them;
      Till the Fagot and the Rope were born.
 
     For the Fagot men find is ,
     And they anchor on the Rope's length;
      Even combined,
      Are a force, the farmers find—
     In union there is strength.
Ross endured his grocery business; strove with it, at it, concentrated his scientific mind on alien tasks of financial calculation and practical , but he liked it no better. He had no interest in business, no desire to make money, no skill in salesmanship.
 
But there were five mouths at home; sweet affectionate feminine mouths no doubt, but requiring food. Also two in the kitchen, wider, and requiring more food. And there were five backs at home to be covered, to use the absurd metaphor—as if all one needed for clothing was a four foot patch. The amount and quality of the covering was an unceasing surprise to Ross, and he did not do justice to the fact that his womenfolk really saved a good deal by doing their own sewing.
 
In his heart he longed always to be free of the whole hated load of tradesmanship. Continually his thoughts went back to the hope of selling out the business and buying a .
 
“I could make it keep us, anyhow,” he would plan to himself; “and I could get at that guinea pig idea. Or maybe hens would do.” He had a theory of his own, or a personal test of his own, rather, which he wished to apply to a well known theory. It would take some years to work it out, and a great many fine pigs, and be of no possible value financially. “I'll do it sometime,” he always concluded; which was cold comfort.
 
His real grief at losing the companionship of the girl he loved, was made more bitter by a total lack of sympathy with her aims, even if she achieved them—in which he had no confidence. He had no power to change his course, and tried not to be unpleasant about it, but he had to express his feelings now and then.
 
“Are you coming back to me?” he wrote. “How you bear to give so much pain to everyone who loves you? Is your wonderful salary worth more to you than being here with your mother—with me? How can you say you love me—and ruin both our lives like this? I cannot come to see you—I would not come to see you—calling at the back door! Finding the girl I love in a cap and ! Can you not see it is wrong, wrong, all this mad escapade of yours? Suppose you do make a thousand dollars a year—I shall never touch your money—you know that. I cannot even offer you a home, except with my family, and I know how you feel about that; I do not blame you.
 
“But I am as stubborn as you are, dear girl; I will not live on my wife's money—you will not live in my mother's house—and we are drifting apart. It is not that I care less for you dear, or at all for anyone else, but this is slow death—that's all.”
 
Mrs. Warden wrote now and then and on the sufferings of her son, and his failing strength under the strain, till Diantha grew to her letters more than any pain she knew. Fortunately they came seldom.
 
Her own family was much impressed by the thousand dollars, and found the occupation of a long way more tolerable than that of house-maid, a distinction which made Diantha smile rather bitterly. Even her father wrote to her once, suggesting that if she chose to invest her salary according to his advice he could double it for her in a year, maybe treble it, in Belgian hares.
 
“They'd double and treble fast enough!” she admitted to herself; but she wrote as pleasant a letter as she could, declining his proposition.
 
Her mother seemed stronger, and became more sympathetic as the months passed. Large affairs always appealed to her more than small ones, and she offered valuable suggestions as to the account keeping of the big house. They all assumed that she was settled in this well paid position, and she made no confidences. But all summer long she planned and read and studied out her progressive schemes, and strengthened her hold among the working women.
 
Laundress after laundress she studied personally and tested professionally, finding a general level of mediocrity, till finally she hit upon a Dane—a big rawboned red-faced woman—whose husband had been a , but was hurt about the head so that he was no longer able to earn his living. The huge fellow was , quiet, and endlessly strong, but needed constant .
 
“He'll do anything you tell him, Miss, and do it well; but then he'll sit and dream about it—I can't leave him at all. But he'll take the clothes if I give him a paper with directions, and come right back.” Poor Mrs. Thorald wiped her eyes, and went on with her swift ironing.
 
Diantha offered her the position of laundress at union House, with two rooms for their own, over the laundry. “There'll be work for him, too,” she said. “We need a man there. He can do a deal of the heavier work—be porter you know. I can't offer him very much, but it will help some.”
 
Mrs. Thorald accepted for both, and considered Diantha as a special .
 
There was to be cook, and two capable second maids. The work of the house must be done well, Diantha ; “and the food's got to be good—or the girls stay.” After much consideration she selected one Julianna, a “person of color,” for her kitchen: not the and personage usually figuring in this character, but a tall, angular, and somewhat woman, a in fact, with a small son. For men she had no respect whatever, but conceded a to Mr. Thorald as “the usefullest biddablest male person” she had ever seen. She also extended special sympathy to Mrs. Thorald on account of her burden, and the Swedish woman had no to her color, and seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in Julianna's speeches.
 
Diantha offered her the place, boy and all. “He can be 'bell boy' and help you in the kitchen, too. Can't you, Hector?” Hector rolled large adoring eyes at her, but said nothing. His mother accepted the proposition, but without enthusiasm. “I can't keep no eye on him, Miss, if I'm cookin' an less'n you keep your eye on him they's no work to be got out'n any kind o' boy.”
 
“What is your last name, Julianna?” Diantha asked her.
 
“I suppose, as a matter o' fac' its de name of de last nigger I married,” she replied. “Dere was several of 'em, all havin' different names, and to tell you de truf Mis' Bell, I got clean mixed amongst 'em. But Julianna's my name—world without end amen.”
 
So Diantha had to her theories about the surnames of servants in this case.
 
“Did they all die?” she asked with polite sympathy.
 
“No'm, dey didn't none of 'em die—worse luck.”
 
“I'm afraid you have seen much trouble, Julianna,” she continued sympathetically; “They you, I suppose?”
 
Julianna laid her long spoon upon the table and stood up with great gravity. “No'm,” she said again, “dey didn't none of 'em desert me on no occasion. I divorced 'em.”
 
difficulties in bulk were beyond Diantha's comprehension, and she dropped the subject.
 
union House opened in the autumn. The vanished pepper trees were dim with dust in Orchardina streets as the long rainless summer drew to a close; but the social atmosphere fairly sparkled with new interest. Those who had not been away eagerly with those who had, and both with the incoming tide of winter visitors.
 
“That girl of Mrs. Porne's has started her housekeeping shop!”
 
“That 'Miss Bell' has got Mrs. Weatherstone fairly infatuated with her crazy schemes.”
 
“Do you know that Bell girl has actually taken union House? Going to make a Girl's Club of it!”
 
“Did you ever hear of such a thing! Diantha Bell's really going to try to run her absurd right here in Orchardina!”
 
They did not know that the young captain of industry had chosen Orchardina as her starting point on account of the special conditions. The even climate was favorable to “going out by the day,” or the delivery of meals, the number of wealthy residents gave opportunity for on a large scale; the crowding tourists and health seekers made a market for all manner of transient service and cooked food, and the constant lack of sufficient or capable servants forced the people into an consideration of any plan of domestic assistance.
 
In a year's deliberate effort Diantha had acquainted herself with the rank and file of the town's housemaids and day workers, and picked her assistants carefully. She had studied the local conditions thoroughly, and knew her ground. A big faded building that used to be “the Hotel” in Orchardina's infant days, , awkward and on a site too valuable for a house lot and not yet saleable as a business block, was the working base.
 
A half year with Mrs. Weatherstone gave her $500 in cash, besides the $100 she had saved at Mrs. Porne's; and Mrs. Weatherstone's cheerfully offered backing gave her credit.
 
“I hate to let you,” said Diantha, “I want to do it all myself.”
 
“You are a painfully perfect person, Mis............