A few days later the Home received an unexpected visitor while the children were playing in the small back yard and Di was working on the ever-present paperwork in her office. Tricia popped her head in the door, her hazel eyes wide.
"Someone wants to see you," she hissed.
Di stifled a laugh at the younger girl's dramatic tones. "Is it the Prime Minister?"
Tricia managed a wan smile. Clearly, Di did not understand. "No—but she looks like a film star. Are you up to seeing her? Do you want a moment to change?" looking at Di's neat cotton house dress with trepidation.
"Send her in now," Di said, guessing who it was. Sure enough, Persis breezed into the office moments later.
"Good morning, dearest," she dimpled. "Am I interrupting important business?"
"Just mind-numbing paperwork," pushing it away. "What brings you here this morning? Just a visit?"
"Not exactly." Persis hesitated and bit her lip. "That cute little girl who let me in—is she the new housemaid?"
"No," Di answered, wondering where on earth that question had come from. "She's my assistant; we still haven't found a housemaid."
"Really?"
"Yes. Persis, what is this about?"
Persis let her breath out in one rush. "Would you hire me?"
Di stared at her blankly. "As a housemaid?"
"Yes."
Di began to laugh, then checked herself at the sight of the other's flushed cheeks and earnest eyes. "You're serious?"
Persis smiled half shamefacedly. "Very."
"Why?" was all she could ask. Persis the glamorous, the 'lily of the field,' the favored daughter of the House of Ford, wanting to work as a maid? Picking up after children, taking out the trash, sweeping the halls, doing all the chores? It simply didn't make sense.
Persis twisted her rings around on her slim white fingers. "I just—well, like I told you last Sunday, I need a job. I need to do something—something useful with my life. After seeing all the people our age just—wasting their lives—I don't want to do that. I want to use my life for others, to do good, to—leave behind a meaningful legacy."
"And so you want to be a maidservant?" Di asked, bemused.
Persis laughed. "It does sound foolish when you put it that way. I could start as a photographer for Ken's paper, or as Dad's secretary, or really, pick any thrilling or exciting career. But I don't want thrills—and I love kiddies, you know I always have—and I want to feel like I've accomplished something for myself, on my own merits, not based on my family or my looks. Here, even though you are my friend, I know you wouldn't hire me unless you really thought I could do the job—you're so honest, darling—and I'd be starting at the bottom and achieving something on my own. Does any of this make sense?"
Di remembered some years ago, pouring her heart out to Shirley about her need to do something worthwhile with her life—her way of "keeping faith"—a journey that had eventually led her here. She smiled slowly. "Can you start tomorrow?"
Persis sprang up, her blue eyes glowing. "Do you mean it?"
"I certainly do."
"Oh thank you, Di, thank you! I promise, I'll be the best housemaid, maidservant, parlormaid, whatever you want to call it, you ever had!"
"That won't take much effort," Di said dryly, thinking of the past succession of domestic help they'd had.
Persis kept on going as though she hadn't heard. "And I don't want you to treat me any differently than you would anyone else, just because I'm your friends."
"Don't worry, I'll stand over you and crack the whip all day long," Di replied, her eyes twinkling.
Persis finally stood still. She laughed. "I know I'm going overboard just a bit, but I'm so excited! When I was wandering around Paris, seeing all the waste of life going on around me, I just—I knew I needed to do something differently. I've always been a bit of a butterfly, you know, but it's time to settle down and work." She paused for breath. "Do you have any instructions for me? If not, I must run home and tell Mother."
"What will Aunt Leslie think"? Di asked, experiencing a momentary qualm at the thought of displeasing that stately woman.
Persis smirked—there was no other word for it. "She'll just think it another on of my mad-cap schemes. She's likely to feel sorrier for you than for me."
"She might not after your first day. No, no special instructions, just come tomorrow morning prepared for anything."
"I will. And Di—thank you."
After Persis had danced out, Di sat bemused, wondering what on earth she had done. "Can Persis even clean?" she murmured to herself.
She shook her curls with a determined air. However it all worked out, one thing was certain: it was going to be interesting.
"I just hope she has appropriate clothing," she said suddenly.
The sun was barely peeping over the tops of Toronto's stately brick and stone buildings when Persis rapped smartly on the Home's back door the next morning—dressed, Di saw with relief as she let her in, in a simply black skirt and grey blouse, with her golden fleece peeping out brightly from underneath a kerchief. Di couldn't help but marvel at how even in such humble clothing Persis radiated beauty and life. Cleaning dusty halls seemed utterly inappropriate for such a woman. Still, this was what she wanted, so Di immediately set her to work.
The children—and Tricia—had been informed that Mother Di had hired a new maidservant, and the little Welsh boy Bran and the French twins Paulette and Pierre—five and six respectively—had been up all night planning the tricks and pranks they could pull on her.
These three small bundles of mischief caused Di more problems than all the rest of the orphans put together. Never a day went by that they didn't send her to the mirror checking for grey hairs. They had successfully chased away five of the Home's seven maids, gotten lost in the city innumerable times, put white pebbles in the sugar bowl when the Home's sponsors came for the monthly tea, made frightful masks and frightened Tricia nearly into hysterics the first night she was there, and on and on.
Paulette was the first one up that morning. She crept out of her bedroom, still in her nightgown, her bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor, her triangular little face alight with mischief as she thought of all the ways she could frighten this new maid.
Persis, who had the hearing of a cat—even down to its slightly pointed ears—heard a slight noise behind her as she cheerfully dusted the woodwork, and turned in time to see the little girl slowly retreating. The dismay on her face at being spotted slowly changed to awe as she looked up at Persis.
"Are you—an angel?" she whispered.
Persis grinned, two dimples appearing in her round cheeks. "I'm afraid not. My name is Persis. What's yours?"
"Paulette," was the hushed reply. Her bright blue eyes suddenly flickered downward in chagrin.
Persis followed her gaze and saw a dead snake cleverly coiled on the floorboards before her. Her dimples deepened; Di had warned her about this sort of thing. Thankfully, the War had given Persis nerves of steel—and she had never, at any time in her life, been accused of being a coward. She immediately assumed an expression of deep interest.
"Ooh…how fascinating. Is this yours?" Before the astonished child could respond, she went on. "How nice of you to show it to me—and you even set it up so that I could see what it looked like alive! Do tell me all about it."
"I—I don't know," Paulette stammered in confusion.
Persis glanced around the hall; none of the other children were up yet, and Di and Tricia were nowhere to be seen. She abandoned her dust cloth and squatted down right next to the little girl. "Well, I took a few science courses in college. Let's look at this and see what we can learn about it."
A smile began to blossom on Paulette's face. "All right."
When Bran and Pierre slipped out of their room a little while later, they found Paulette comfortably established in the housemaid's lap as they both intently examined the snake. The boys stopped in confusion, but before they could say anything, Paulette looked up and saw them.
"Come see!" she exclaimed. "Miss Persis has been teaching me all about snakes! It's fas'nating."
As they scrambled over beside her, the dead spiders and bugs in their pockets utterly forgotten, Tricia unobtrusively glided out of the shadowy alcove behind them she'd been standing in the entire time and moved silently toward the stairs. Di would happy to know that Miss Ford seemed to be working out even better than they'd hoped.
By the end of the week, Persis had charmed nearly all the children. To be sure, Olivia steadfastly refused to like her—but then, that girl wouldn't let herself care for anybody. She had been raised by her grandmother, a hard, bitter old woman; after her death Olivia was passed from relative to relative on her father's side, none of whom wanted her, and finally landed in the Shirley-Stedman Home an unloved and deeply hurt child, refusing to believe that anyone would ever want her.
But the rest of the children were enormously fond of "Miss Persis," and Paulette and Pierre in particular adored her. Di couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the two of them trailing after her, watching with fascinated eyes as she performed her daily duties.
"How are you holding up?" she asked her friend that Saturday evening.
Persis looked exhausted, but her eyes were radiant. "I've never worked so hard in my life—and I've never been so satisfied. Di dearest, I understand now who you do this. It's exhausting and frustrating and saddening—but knowing you're making a difference in the lives of these children just makes it all worthwhile."
Di nodded. "The hardest thing is not being able to help all of them. Everything we do here is just a tiny drop in the ocean of need."
"It must be discouraging," the other woman agreed sympathetically. "But you are accomplishing something. Look at Paulette and Pierre and all the other street children you have. Just think where they would be if not for you! And Katia—sent away from her family in Russia during the Bolshevik Revolution and ending up here, all alone…where would she have gone? Or Peter and Polly—coming her to live with their aunt after their parents died in that train wreck in London, only to find that she had died as well—what would they have done? Or…"
Di held up a hand, laughing as she did so. "Enough! You've made your point."
Persis smiled smugly. "Good."
"So what do Uncle Owen and Aunt Leslie think of this now they know it's more than just a whim?" Di asked, reverting to the original subject.
"Astonishingly enough, they're delighted. They can see I'm finally doing something I love, instead of something that merely amuses and distracts me. Rilla and Nan, on the other hand, are in despair that now both you and I will end up old maids."
And the two laughed heartlessly at the consternation they were causing between their sisters and friends.