here was a wide old hall leading to the front stairs, and in this hall
now stood the good child Penelope. She had brought in a quantity of fresh
grasses, and had a piteous and beseeching expression on her face. Miss
Tredgold took no notice of her. She stood by the open hall door and
looked out.

"Might be made a pretty place," she said aloud.

Then she turned to go upstairs, sighing as she did so. Penelope echoed
the sigh in a most audible manner. Miss Tredgold was arrested by the
sound, and looked down.

"Ah, little girl!" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought perhaps you'd like me to help you," said Penelope. "I wor
waiting for you to come out of Pad's room."

"Don't use that hideous word 'wor.' W-a-s, was. Can you spell?"

"No; and I don't want to," said Penelope.

"We'll see about that. In the meantime, child, can you take me to my
room?"

"May I hold of your hand?" said Penelope.

"May you hold my hand, not _of_ my hand. Certainly not. You may go on in
front of me. You have got clearly to understand---- But what did you say
your name was?"

"Penelope."

"You must clearly understand, Penelope, that I do not pet children. I
expect them to be good without sugar-plums."

Now, Penelope knew that sugar-plums were delicious. She had heard of
them, and at Christmas-time she used to dream of them, but very few had
hitherto come into her life. She now looked eagerly at Miss Tredgold.

"If I are good for a long time without them, will you give me two or
three?" she asked.

Miss Tredgold gave a short, grim laugh.

"We'll see," she said. "I never make rash promises. Oh! so this is my
room."

She looked around her.

"No carpet," she said aloud; "no curtains; no pictures on the walls. A
deal table for a dressing-table, the muslin covering much the worse for
dirt and wear. Hum! You do live plain at The Dales."

"Oh, yes; don't us?" said Penelope. "And your room is much the handsomest
of all the rooms. We call it very handsome. If you wor to see our
rooms----"

"Were to see----"

"Yes, were to see," repeated Penelope, who found this constant correction
very tiresome.

"And may I ask," exclaimed Miss Tredgold suddenly, not paying any heed to
the little girl's words, "what on earth is that in the blue mug?"

She marched up to the dressing-table. In the center was a large blue mug
of very common delft filled with poor Penelope's grasses.

"What horror is this?" she said. "Take it away at once,