“I think she is improving, Helen.”
“Of course she is improving. She is trying so hard to do what I want her to and I am trying so hard to be patient. I think I am improving some myself.”
“Oh, honey, you are simply splendid. I think you have the hardest job of all and I think you are doing better than any of us.”
“Nonsense!” But Helen looked very happy over her sister’s praise. “I’d rather do general housework for six dollars a month than go every day and teach thirty little nincompoops a-b, ab.”
“But the thing is you are doing general housework for nothing a month.”
“I am doing a little teaching of a-b, ab, too, only my methods are different. I have evolved a very advanced style of teaching and Chloe, too, is learning to spell. My method is somewhat that of Dotheboys’ Hall—you remember: ‘W-i-n-d-o-w, window—Go wash them.’ I make her spell and write all the kitchen utensils. She learns while she is working and it makes her take an interest in becoming educated.”
“Oh, Helen, you are so clever! You must let me help about the luncheon.”
“How about washing your head; and writing your letters; and casting up the household accounts; and the Saturday Evening Post?”
“Well, the letters and Post will keep!”
On Saturday the rule was that the dead warriors must make up their own beds and clean their own rooms, so shortly after breakfast there was a general scramble in process. Helen turned Chloe loose in the dining-room to have it swept and garnished for their distinguished visitor.