aries, and
the ladies had seen the baby. I went to the back window to call an
encouraging word to Mrs. Bobby, but to my horror I saw that worthy woman
disappearing at the extreme end of the lane in full chase of our cow,
that had broken down the fence, and was now at large with some of our
neighbour's turnip-tops hanging from her mouth.

Chapter XXIV. An unlicensed victualler.

Ruin stared us in the face. Were our cherished plans to be frustrated
by a marauding cow, who little realised that she was imperilling her
own means of existence? Were we to turn away three, five, nine thirsty
customers at one fell swoop? Never! None of these people ever saw me
before, nor would ever see me again. What was to prevent my serving them
with tea? I had on a pink cotton gown,--that was well enough; I hastily
buttoned on a clean painting apron, and seizing a freshly laundered
cushion cover lying on the bureau, a square of lace and embroidery, I
pinned it on my hair for a cap while descending the stairs. Everything
was right in the kitchen, for Mrs. Bobby had flown in the midst of her
preparations. The loaf, the bread-knife, the butter, the marmalade, all
stood on the table, and the kettle was boiling. I set the tea to draw,
and then dashed to the door, bowed appetisingly to the visitors, showed
them to the tables with a winning smile (which was to be extra), seated
the children maternally on the steps and laid napkins before them,
dashed back to the kitchen, cut the thin bread-and-butter, and brought
it with the marmalade, asked my customers if they desired cream, and
told them it was extra, went back and brought a tray with tea, boiling
water, milk, and cream. Lowering my voice to an English sweetness, and
dropping a few h's ostentatiously as I answered questions, I poured
five cups of tea, and four mugs for the children, and cut more
bread-and-butter, for they were all eating like wolves. They praised
the butter. I told them it was a specialty of the house. They requested
muffins. With a smile of heavenly sweetness tinged with regret, I
replied that Saturday was our muffin day; Saturday, muffins; Tuesday,
crumpets; Thursday, scones; and Friday, tea-cakes. This inspiration
sprang into being full grown, like Pallas from the brain of Zeus. While
they were regretting that they had come on a plain bread-and-butter day,
I retired to the kitchen and made out a bill for presentation to the
oldest man of the party.