, shutting the door, indulged in a fit
of that species of suppressed laughter which is usually indicated by a
series of spurts through the top of the nose and the compressed lips.

She was suddenly interrupted by a tap at the knocker.

Allowing as many minutes to elapse as she thought would have sufficed
for her ascent from the kitchen, she once more opened the door. It was
only a beggar--a ragged disreputable man--and she was about to shut the
door in his face, with that summary politeness so well understood by
servant girls, when a thought struck her.

"Oh, sir," she said, "would you like a cup of tea?"

The man evidently thought he was being made game of, for his face
assumed such a threatening aspect that the small domestic incontinently
shut the door with a sudden bang. The beggar amused himself by
battering it with his stick for five minutes and then went away.

The next visitor was a lady.

"Is Miss Pritty at home, child?" she asked, regarding the domestic with
a half-patronising, half-pitying air.

"No, ma'am, she's hout."

"Oh! That's a pity," said the lady, taking a book out of her pocket.
"Will you tell her that I called for her subscription to the new
hospital that is about to be built in the town? Your mistress does not
know me personally, but she knows all about the hospital, and this book,
which I shall call for to-morrow, will speak for itself. Be sure you
give it to her, child."

"Yes, ma'am. And, please, ma'am, would you like a cup of tea?"

The lady, who happened to possess a majestic pair of eyes, looked so
astonished that the small domestic could scarcely contain herself.

"Are you deranged, child?" asked the lady.

"No, ma'am, if you please; but Miss Pritty told me to be sure to offer
you a cup."

"To offer _me_ a cup, child!"

"Yes, ma'am. At least to offer a cup to any one who should call."

It need scarcely be added that the lady declined the tea, and went away,
observing to herself in an undertone, that "she _must_ be deranged."

The small domestic again shut the door and spurted.

It was in her estimation quite a rare, delicious, and novel species of
fun. To one whose monotonous life was spent underground, with a
prospect of bricks at two feet from her window, and in company with
pots, pans, potato-peelings, and black-beetles, it was as good as a
scene in a play.

The next visitor was the butcher's boy, who came round to take "orders"
for the following day. This