ouldn't miss it for the world."

It was not till Brian had left that Erica, taking up the article on
cremation, was struck by some resemblance in the handwriting. She must
have seen Brian's writing before, but only this afternoon did she make
that fresh discovery. Crossing the room she took from one of the book
shelves a dark blue morocco volume, and compared the writing on the fly
leaf with her MS.

"From another admirer of 'Hiawatha.'" There could be no doubt that Brian
had written that. Had he cared for her so long? Had he indeed loved her
all these years? She was interrupted by the maid bringing in the tea.

"Mr. Bircham's boy is here, miss, and if you please, can cook speak to
you a minute?"

Erica put down the Longfellow and rolled up "Cremation."

"I'm sure she's going to give warning!" she thought to herself. "What a
day to choose for it! That's what I call an anti-climax."

Her forebodings proved all too true. In a minute more in walked the
cook, with the sort of conscious dignity of bearing which means "I am no
longer in your service."

"If you please, miss, I wish to leave this day month."

"I shall be sorry to lose you," said Erica; "what are your reasons for
leaving?"

"I've not been used, miss, to families as is in the law courts. I've
been used to the best West End private families."

"I don't see how it can affect you," said Erica, feeling, in spite of
her annoyance, much inclined to laugh.

"Indeed, miss, and it do. There's not a tradesman's boy but has his joke
or his word about Mr. Raeburn," said the cook in an injured voice. "And
last Sunday when I went to the minister to show my lines, he said a
member ought to be ashamed to take service with a hatheist and that I
was in an 'ouse of 'ell. Those was his very words, miss, an 'ouse of
'ell, he said."

"Then it was exceedingly impertinent of him," said Erica, "for he knew
nothing whatever about it."

After that there was nothing for it but to accept the resignation, and
to begin once more the weary search for that rara avis, "a good plain
cook."

Her interview had only just ended when she heard the front door open.
She listened intently, but apparently it was only Tom; he came upstairs
singing a refrain with which just then she quite agreed:

"LAW, law Rhymes very well with jaw,
If you're fond of litigation,
And sweet procrastination,
Latin and botheration,
I advise you to go to law."

"Halloo!" he exclaim