It was nine o’clock the next morning when Ellen opened her eyes.  Breakfast had been served a half-hour earlier, Jane and Bessie having cooked some eggs, which Bessie ate alone, since Thaddeus and Liscomb were compelled to take the eight-o’clock train to town, hungry and forlorn.  Liscomb was very good-natured about it to Thaddeus, but his book-keeper had a woful tale to tell of his employer’s irritability when he returned home that night.  As for Thaddeus, he spoke his mind very plainly—­to Liscomb.  Bessie never knew what he said, nor did any of the servants; but he said it to Liscomb, and, as Liscomb remarked later, he seemed like somebody else altogether while speaking, he was so fierce and determined about it all.  That night a telegram came from Liscomb, saying that he had been unexpectedly delayed, and that, as there were several matters requiring his attention at his own home, he thought he would not be up again until Sunday.

Bessie was relieved, and Thaddeus was mad.

“We must have those rules,” he said.

And so they were brought out.  Ellen received them with stolid indifference; Jane with indignation, if the slamming of doors in various parts of the house that day betokened anything.  Norah accepted them without a murmur.  It made no difference to Norah on what day she swept the parlor, nor did she seem to care very much because her “days at home” were shifted, so that her day out was Friday instead of Thursday.

“Has Ellen said anything about the rules, my dear?” asked Thaddeus, a week or two later.

“Not a word,” returned Bessie.

“Has she ‘looked’ anything?”

“Volumes,” Bessie answered.

“Does she take exception to any of them?”

“No,” said Bessie, “and I’ve discovered why, too.  She hasn’t read them.”

Thaddeus was silent for a minute.  Then he said, quite firmly for him, “She must read them.”

“Must is a strong word, Teddy,” Bessie replied, “particularly since Ellen can’t read.”

“Then you ought to read them to her.”

“That’s what I think,” Bessie answered, amiably.  “I’m going to do it very soon—­day after to-morrow, I guess.”

“What has Jane said?” asked Thaddeus, biting his lip.

Bessie colored.  Jane had expressed herself with considerable force, and Bessie had been a little afraid to tell Thaddeus what she had said and done.

“Oh, nothing much,” she answered.  “She—­she said she’d never worn caps like a common servant, and wasn’t going to begin now; and then she didn’t like having to clean the silver on Saturday afternoons, because the silver-powder got into her finger-nails; and that really is too bad, Teddy, because Saturday night is the night her friends come to call, and silver-powder is awfully hard to get out of your nails, you know; and, of course, a girl wants to appear neat and clean when she has callers.”