t their
way, to separate at the turning leading to the rectory gate.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A PROFESSIONAL VISIT.

"Not going up to the rectory?" said the Doctor, next morning.

"No, uncle," said Vane, looking up from a book he was reading. "Joseph
came with a note, before breakfast, to say that the rector was going
over to Lincoln to-day, and that he hoped I would do a little private
study at home."

"Then don't, my dear," said Aunt Hannah. "You read and study too much.
Get the others to go out with you for some excursion."

Vane looked at her in a troubled way.

"He was going to excursion into the workshop. Eh, boy?" said the
doctor.

"Yes, uncle, I did mean to."

"No, no, no, my dear; get some fresh air while it's fine. Yes, Eliza."

"If you please, ma'am, cook says may she speak to you."

"Yes; send her in," was the reply; and directly after Martha appeared,
giving the last touches to secure the clean apron she had put on between
kitchen and breakfast-room.

"Cook's cross," said Vane to himself, as his aunt looked up with--

"Well, cook?"

"Sorry to trouble you, ma'am, but I want to know what I'm to do about my
vegetables this morning."

"Cook them," said Vane to himself, and then he repeated the words aloud,
and added, "not like you did my poor chanterelles."

"Hush, Vane, my dear," said Aunt Hannah, as the cook turned upon him
fiercely. "I do not understand what you mean, Martha."

"I mean, ma'am," said the cook, jerkily, but keeping her eyes fixed upon
Vane, "that Bruff sent word as he's too ill to come this morning; and I
can't be expected to go down gardens, digging potatoes and cutting
cauliflowers for dinner. It isn't my place."

"No, no, certainly not, Martha," said Aunt Hannah. "Dear me! I am
sorry Bruff is so ill. He was quite well yesterday."

"But I want the vegetables now, ma'am."

"And you shall have them, Martha," said the doctor, rising, bowing, and
opening the door for the cook to pass out, which she did, looking
wondering and abashed at her master, as if not understanding what he
meant.

"Dear me!" continued the doctor, rubbing one ear, and apostrophising his
nephew, "what a strange world this is. Now, by and by, Vane, that woman
will leave here to marry and exist upon some working man's income, and
never trouble herself for a moment about whether it's her place to go
down the garden `to cut a cabbage to make an apple-pie,' as the poet
said--or somebody else; but