“She’s a second Elizabeth,” chuckled Thaddeus, as he listened to an order passed down the dumb-waiter shaft from the stout empress of the moment to the trembling queen of the kitchen.

“She’s a little dictatorial,” whispered Thaddeus to his newspaper, when the monarch of all she surveyed gave him his orders.  “But there are times, even in a Republic like this, when a dictator is an advantage.  I hate to see a woman cry, but the way Jane wept at the routing Mrs. Brown gave her this morning was a finer sight than Niagara.”

But, alas! this happy state of affairs could not last forever.  Thaddeus was just beginning to get on easy terms with Mrs. Brown when she was summoned elsewhere.

“Change of heir is necessary for one in her profession,” sighed Thaddeus; and then, when he thought of resuming the reins himself, he sighed again, and wished that Mrs. Brown might have remained a fixture in the household forever.  “Still,” he added, more to comfort himself than because he had any decided convictions to express—­“still, a baby in the house will make a difference, and Ellen and Jane will behave better now that Bessie’s added responsibilities put them more upon their honor.”

For a time Thaddeus’s prophecy was correct.  Ellen and Jane did do better for nearly two months, and then—­but why repeat the old story?  Then they lapsed, that is all, and became more tyrannical than ever.  Bessie was so busy with little Ted that the household affairs outside of the nursery came under their exclusive control.  Thaddeus stood it—­I was going to say nobly, but I think it were better put ignobly—­but he had a good excuse for so doing.

“A baby is an awful care to its mother,” he said; “a responsibility that takes up her whole time and attention.  I don’t think I’d better complicate matters by getting into a row with the servants.”

And so it went.  A year and another year passed.  The pretty home was beginning to look old.  The bloom of its youth had most improperly faded—­for surely a home should never fade—­but there was the boy, a growing delight to his father, so why complain?  Better this easy-going life than one of domestic contention.

Then on a sudden the boy fell ill.  The doctor came—­shook his head gravely.

“You must take him to the sea-shore,” he said.  “It is his only chance.”

And to the sea-shore they went, leaving the house in charge of the treasures.

“I have confidence in you,” said Thaddeus to Jane and Ellen on the morning of the departure, “so I have decided to leave the house open in your care.  Mrs. Perkins wants you to keep it as you would if she were here.  Whatever you need to make yourselves comfortable, you may get.  Good-bye.”

“What a comfort it is,” said Bessie, when they had reached the sea-shore, and were indulging in their first bit of that woful luxury, homesickness—­“what a comfort it is to feel that the girls are there to look after things!  An empty house is such a temptation to thieves.”