ntempt which it cost her a hard struggle to conceal. She had
suspected, on the previous night, and she was certain now, that the
women-servants all incomprehensibly resented her presence among them
with the same sullen unanimity of distrust. Mrs. Drake, as she had seen
for herself, was really engaged that morning over her accounts. But of
all the servants under her who had made their excuses not one had even
affected to be more occupied than usual. Their looks said plainly, "We
don't like you; and we won't show you over the house."

She found her way to old Mazey, not by the scanty directions given her,
but by the sound of the veteran's cracked and quavering voice, singing
in some distant seclusion a verse of the immortal sea-song--"Tom
Bowling." Just as she stopped among the rambling stone passages on the
basement story of the house, uncertain which way to turn next, she heard
the tuneless old voice in the distance, singing these lines:

"His form was of the manliest beau-u-u-uty,
His heart was ki-i-ind and soft;
Faithful below Tom did his duty,
But now he's gone alo-o-o-o-oft
--But now he's go-o-o-one aloft!"

Magdalen followed in the direction of the quavering voice, and found
herself in a little room looking out on the back yard. There sat old
Mazey, with his spectacles low on his nose, and his knotty old hands
blundering over the rigging of his model ship. There were Brutus
and Cassius digesting before the fire again, and snoring as if they
thoroughly enjoyed it. There was Lord Nelson on one wall, in flaming
watercolors; and there, on the other, was a portrait of Admiral
Bartram's last flagship, in full sail on a sea of slate, with a
salmon-colored sky to complete the illusion.

"What, they won't show you over the house--won't they?" said old Mazey.
"I will, then! That head house-maid's a sour one, my dear--if ever
there was a sour one yet. You're too young and good-looking to please
'em--that's what you are." He rose, took off his spectacles, and feebly
mended the fire. "She's as straight as a poplar," said old Mazey,
considering Magdalen's figure in drowsy soliloquy. "I say she's as
straight as a poplar, and his honor the admiral says so too! Come along,
my dear," he proceeded, addressing himself to Magdalen again. "I'll
teach you your Pints of the Compass first. When you know your Pints,
blow high, blow low, you'll find it plain sailing all over the house."

He led the way to the d