"Oh! Here's another. 'Mother's help wanted, fond of children, must be thoroughly domesticated, comfortable home, one servant kept. Apply by letter, Mrs. Holtby, Daisy Bank, Staffordshire.'
"That sounds better! I am fond of children. I wonder if I am thoroughly domesticated! And Daisy Bank sounds inviting. I wonder if it is the name of the house or the place. I should like to go to a pretty place, if possible. Of course it does not matter really, only after Borrowdale—" And Marjorie looked lovingly at the beautiful view from her bedroom window.
"Mother," she called, as Mrs. Douglas passed the bedroom door, "come and look at these advertisements."
Mother and daughter sat down together and read them through, and Mrs. Douglas agreed with Marjorie that the Daisy Bank one appeared to be the most promising.
"But, oh, darling," she said, "how shall I ever get on without you?"
"Or I without you, mother?" said Marjorie. "But we must do something, and this seems the best, does it not?"
"I suppose so, dear."
"And I do think it will be good for Phyllis. She is so clever and capable, when she gives her mind to anything, and I am sure she will save you all she can, and she would never settle away from home, would she?"
"Oh no, that would never do!" said Mrs. Douglas. "I don't think poor little Phyllis is cut out to rough it at all."
So that day the letter was written, and Marjorie took it herself to the post-office, and, as she dropped it into the box, felt like Julius Cæsar when he crossed the Rubicon.