is over. He makes me bobbins for my
lace-pillow now--he's very clever with his hands; but he'd doctor our
people on the Green if they would let him. Only our Doctor--Doctor
Break--says he's an emp--or imp something--worse than imposter. But my
Nurse says--'

'Nurse! You're ever so old. What have you got a nurse for?' Una finished
milking, and turned round on her stool as Kitty Shorthorn grazed off.

'Because I can't get rid of her. Old Cissie nursed my mother, and she
says she'll nurse me till she dies. The idea! She never lets me alone.
She thinks I'm delicate. She has grown infirm in her understanding, you
know. Mad--quite mad, poor Cissie!'

'Really mad?' said Una. 'Or just silly?'

'Crazy, I should say--from the things she does. Her devotion to me is
terribly embarrassing. You know I have all the keys of the Hall except
the brewery and the tenants' kitchen. I give out all stores and the
linen and plate.'

'How jolly! I love store-rooms and giving out things.'

Ah, it's a great responsibility, you'll find, when you come to my
age. Last year Dad said I was fatiguing myself with my duties, and he
actually wanted me to give up the keys to old Amoore, our housekeeper.
I wouldn't. I hate her. I said, "No, sir. I am Mistress of Marklake Hall
just as long as I live, because I'm never going to be married, and I
shall give out stores and linen till I die!"

And what did your father say?'

'Oh, I threatened to pin a dishclout to his coat-tail. He ran away.
Every one's afraid of Dad, except me.' Philadelphia stamped her foot.
'The idea! If I can't make my own father happy in his own house, I'd
like to meet the woman that can, and--and--I'd have the living hide off
her!'

She cut with her long-thonged whip. It cracked like a pistol-shot across
the still pasture. Kitty Shorthorn threw up her head and trotted away.

'I beg your pardon,' Philadelphia said; 'but it makes me furious. Don't
you hate those ridiculous old quizzes with their feathers and fronts,
who come to dinner and call you "child" in your own chair at your own
table?'

'I don't always come to dinner, said Una, 'but I hate being called
"child." Please tell me about store-rooms and giving out things.'

Ah, it's a great responsibility--particularly with that old cat Amoore
looking at the lists over your shoulder. And such a shocking thing
happened last summer! Poor crazy Cissie, my Nurse that I was telling you
of, she took three solid silver tablespoon