Servants must, of course, be had in every well-ordered household--but too many of them constitute a veritable hive of discord and worry.

Why have huge houses at all?
Why have enormous domestic retinues?
A small house is always cosiest, and often prettiest, and the fewer servants, the less trouble.
Here again comes in the crucial question--Why do we spend all our best years of youth, life, and sentiment in making money, when, so far as the sweetest and highest things are concerned, money can give so little!" At that moment, Prue entered with a brightly shining old brown "lustre" teapot, and a couple of boiled eggs.
"Mis' Tranter sez you're to eat the eggs cos' they'se new-laid an' incloodid in the bill," she announced glibly--"An' 'opes you've got all ye want." Helmsley looked at her kindly.
"You're a smart little girl!" he said.

"Beginning to earn your own living already, eh ?" "Lor', that aint much!" retorted Prue, putting a knife by the brown loaf, and setting the breakfast things even more straightly on the table than they originally were.

"I lives on nothin' scarcely, though I'm turned fifteen an' likes a bit o' fresh pork now an' agen.

But I've got a brother as is on'y ten, an' when 'e aint at school 'e's earnin' a bit by gatherin' mussels on the beach, an' 'e do collect a goodish bit too, though 'taint reg'lar biziness, an' 'e gets hisself into such a pickle o' salt water as never was.