The Selma Protective Association

S a mistress young Mrs. Payson left little to be desired. Her maids always adored her; yet, one after another, her servants deserted her with distressing invariability. It was not sickness that carried them off, for the work was so light and the maids were so tenderly cared for that each successive incumbent grew plump and rosy in the Payson kitchen. Offers of higher wages seemingly had no power to charm them, for considerate Mrs. Payson had the reputation of being "a lovely lady to work for," and she deserved it; her manners were gentle, her kitchen and the maids' bedroom were models for convenience and comfort, and the domestic machinery at all times ran smoothly.

It was matrimony that made all the trouble; not merely courtship, but out-and-out matrimony. No sooner was one maid comfortably married off and her successor installed, than a suitor, armed with a wedding-ring, appeared on the premises.

"If I were running a matrimonial agency," sighed Mrs. Payson, despairingly, "I could n't make a greater success of marrying off cooks. It makes no difference whether I take them fresh from their native land and green as grass, or whether they 're American-born, old, toothless, and ugly, they all go in the selfsame way."

"You might," suggested Richard Payson, "compel them to sign a contract, when they come, binding them to forfeit all wages in the event of their becoming engaged before the year is over."

"They'd forfeit anything," declared Mrs. Payson, "rather than break the record. It's my belief that mure than half of them come here for the sole purpose of getting married."

"When you advertise," said Richard, who refused to take the domestic problem seriously, "why don't you insert this clause: 'Only the already married need apply'? But why bring up the subject to-day? Surely, with Christine—"

"But that's it precisely. Christine has just given warning. She has lost all her teeth, she's hump-shouldered and anything but beautiful, but it seems that a widower, with four children, who drives the grocer's delivery wagon—"

"I suspect you mean horse," interrupted Richard.

"Well, horse," amended Eleanor, patiently—"has set his affections on Christine, ugly as she is. I declare I would n't have bought groceries from Bennett's if I'd dreamed that that delivery-man was a widower."

"It's the hours you keep." said Isabel, Mrs. Payson's quick-witted younger sister, who lived with the Paysons and taught kindergarten. "Your maids have very little to do during the afternoon, and all their evenings are free. I believe if you'd just use a little diplomacy you could manage to circumvent Cupid. When does Christine go?"

"Two weeks from to-day."

"Good! If you don't mind upsetting all your present housekeeping arrangements, I 'll guarantee to keep the next cook single for at least six months."

"It usually takes only three," sighed Eleanor, "to marry off the moderately plain ones. In extreme cases six months is the outside limit. I did think that Christine was immune, but—"

"Well," comforted Isabel, "your troubles are over if you 'll just help me carry out my scheme."

"I 'll help you carry out anything," averred the discouraged Eleanor, "if it keeps my next cook a spinster."

"I hope that 'rough on rats' has no part in your scheme," said Payson, teasingly.

"It has n't," explained Isabel, with delightful earnestness. "The plan is this: We 'll keep the new maid so excessively busy during courting-hours that no one shall have a chance to court her. For one thing, we must have dinner at night and give the children their tea by themselves at five o'clock."

"But I abandoned that plan," objected Eleanor, "because it made so much extra work."

"Bless you, dearie! You 've got to spend all your time making extra work, or you 'll have that new girl snapped up before she learns to set the table."

"Well, have your own way," said Eleanor. "Anything to break this fearful run of matrimony."

Applicants for Christine's about-to-be-vacated place were numerous—they always were when Mrs. Payson wanted a cook. Isabel was so confident that her plan would prove a success that she persuaded Eleanor to abandon her first choice, an elderly, well-recommended, but decidedly unprepossessing spinster named Matilda McGillicuddy, in favor of an attractive young Swedish girl, whose first name was Selma, but whose surname was both unspellable and unpronounceable.

"I could n't devote hours to occupying the leisure of that dreadful, square-jawed Matilda," explained Isabel, feelingly; "but it will be a real pleasure to keep that pretty Selma so much engaged—"

"Don't use that word," pleaded Eleanor.

"Well, so occupied," amended Isabel, "that she won't have time for courthip and subsequent marriage. I foresee a glorious triumph—Selma forever single and the Paysons happy with a permanent cook."

"If you have a fault," said Isabel's brother-in-law, diplomatically, "I should say that that fault was over-confidence. Still, if you succeed in this case, I can promise you our lasting gratitude—and a two-pound box of candy."

"Make it five."

"I meant five, of course. Moreover, lady, I 'll agree to forget certain other occasions when your over-cocksureness plunged a too confiding family into difficulties. You remember—"

"I think you 're mean, Dick Payson," said always-too-confident Isabel, blushing crimson.

"I am," acknowledged Payson; "but here's your chance to atone nobly for all past misdeeds."

Certainly neither Isabel nor Eleanor left anything to be desired in the way of energy during the following weeks. On the day of Selma's arrival, the strong, wholesome young girl had been subjected by the sisters to a rigid catechism. Her replies, made cheerfully in broken English, were highly satisfactory. She was a stranger in the place, she was not betrothed, she was not fond of company, she would not like to be married—oh, dear, no, not for many years. Yes, she would like to stay with Mrs. Payson always, she was such a "kind meesis"; no, she could n't afford to get married "anyvay," for she owed her cousin sixty dollars for her passage to America, which must be paid back, but so far all her earnings had gone to the dentist, because sweet-voiced Selma had had so much "toot'ache on mys toot's."

"We 've fallen on our feet this time," said Isabel, triumphantly, when the interview was over. "I see my candy coming—ten pounds strong."

"It certainly does sound reassuring," admitted cautious Eleanor; "but, then, only one of them ever owned at the outset that there was a man in the case. Selma is so pretty that we 'll have to take extra precautions."

"Eternal vigilance," paraphrased Richard, "is the price of cooks."

"We 'll be vigilant," promised Isabel." You said fifteen pounds of chocolates, did n't you? "

Selma proved not only pretty, hut surprisingly competent. Her only fault was her tireless industry. She rose at an incredible hour in the morning and worked uncomplainingly as long as there was work to do. The scheming but conscience-stricken sisters were hard pressed to find tasks enough to keep the strong, swift-moving maid busy. The family found itself leading a strenuous life on Selma's account. Isabel, the Paysons cheerfully altered their life-long habits whenever by so doing they could furnish occupation for good-natured Selma during the hours that they considered most dangerous.

The Paysons were not early risers. When they strolled down-stairs at eight o'clock, indefatigable Selma, apparently as fresh as if she had n't lifted a finger, always had the house in order, her desert made, and the vegetables prepared for the dinner. Indeed, her mania for early rising was the only unmanageable trait about Selma; she would get up at daybreak. Her afternoons and evenings, owing to her tremendous matutinal energy, were perilously empty.

Isabel, helped by her kindergarten training, devoted herself to remedying this, Selma liked to read; Isabel brought her Swedish papers and even succeeded in unearthing a few battered copies of Swedish books, Eleanor hoping fervently that they were not love stories. Selma's fingers in spite of the roughness engendered by housework, were clever. Accomplished Isabel taught the willing maid to sew, to embroider neatly, and to make dainty garments for herself, although Eleanor had doubts about the wisdom of teaching her to make bewitching collars and shirt-waists because they added so greatly to Selma's already sufficient attractiveness.

Of course the maid had to have an occasional afternoon out. Fortunately, the latter part of the winter was stormy, and Selma disliked wet weather. As the days grew warmer, Isabel self-sacrificingly escorted the somewhat bewildered Selma, who had not dreamed that any employers could be so kind, to several matinées. As spring advanced, Selma unwittingly furthered the schemes of the Selma Protective Association, as amused Richard playfully dubbed the earnest sisters; for the country-bred girl began to show a gratifying interest in gardening.

Until this time the surroundings of the Paysons' back yard had always displeased Eleanor, but now she thoroughly approved of them. On the left, close against the dividing fence, was the Browns' big barn—an inexcusable eyesore. On the right, equally huge and equally close, was the Spencers' carriage-house. Directly back of the Payson lot stood a huge ice-house, painted dark red and relieved by only one solitary aperture, which might as well have been left out, since it was always closely shuttered by a rough door, also painted red. The sheltered garden, however, was now just exactly the place for tender young seedlings and for Selma, who was never so happy, apparently, as when, her indoor work done, she was down on her knees transplanting infant pansies and youthful lettuces.

Four months and three weeks had slipped away. Industrious, early-rising Selma, still single and apparently unattached, was as happy as a child, with her housework, her reading, her sewing, and, most of all, with her gardening. She seemed to crave no other society than the house afforded. "I just love that girl," said Isabel, enthusiastically. "She's as guileless as an infant—such a sweet, wholesome creature. I'm tremendously proud of myself. It takes me to straighten out domestic difficulties and to circumvent Cupid. Man does n't exist so far as Selma is concerned."

It certainly seemed as if Isabel were right. Eleanor, too, was thoroughly satisfied, and even Richard ceased to scoff. He was to have his reward— a greater reward, perhaps, than he deserved.

Payson was devoted to fishing—the one pursuit, his wife declared, that could induce him to leave his bed before 8 It was an expedition of this nature that made him rise at five one balmy morning to survey, from the hall window overlooking the back yard, the northern sky, in order to determine if the weather were propitious. The sky proved cloudless. Payson's satisfied eyes involuntarily strayed toward things earthly and rested carelessly on the red ice-house. He gave a sudden, surprised whistle.

The next moment, the half-dressed fisherman, now smiling broadly, was rapping at his sister-in-law's door.

"Get up! Get up, Isabel!" he cried excitedly. "Get on your duds at once—don't waste a second!"

"Is the house on fire?" demanded startled Isabel, springing from her bed.

"Worse, far worse! Don't ask questions, but hurry into your clothes," cried the fisherman, hastening to rouse Eleanor in the same peremptory manner. Exasperating Richard would answer no questions, although Eleanor was almost reduced to tears because of his obdurate silence.

Within a very few moments, the S. P. A., picturesquely clad and wild with curiosity, was ready to follow Payson down-stairs. He led the wondering sisters through the house, to the back door, which stood conveniently open, and pointed in silence to the ice-house. The hitherto shuttered aperture was no longer shuttered, for the rough door, supported by strong hinges, was flung back against the building. On the threshold, some eight feet above the ground, sat pretty Selma, a study in pink and white against a ruddy background, and very close beside her sat a sturdy young ice-man, with an arm about her waist. Selma leaned contentedly against the ice-man's shoulder and the Paysons' step-ladder rested, with a similar slant, against the red ice-house.

Selma blushed a beautiful crimson on beholding the astonished trio in the doorway, but the matter-of-fact ice-man did not flinch.

"I tank I have to tole you, meesis," said happy-eyed Selma, leaning forward and speaking earnestly, "that I'm is going to get married by Eric on first of Yune. She come from same place I leeve in on Sveden, and she alvays have to sleep afternoon, vor she is night-vatchman on dock, so she don't can see me only in the morning—but my and Eric, we like each odder pooty goot."

"Yaw," assented Eric; "dot iss so."

"You merely watched the wrong end of the day," said Payson, chuckling wickedly, as he drew the speechless S. P. A. inside and gently closed the door. "One has to get up early to outwit Cupid in this house."