ell, my dears," she said warmly, "and what can I do for you to-day?"

There was a delicious smell of hot cake pervading the place, and Mrs.
Vercoe herself had come out streaked with flour, and carrying a big black
'sheath' full of new currant cakes and buns.

"I--I hardly know," said Esther. "There are such lots of nice things
here," she added politely. "Do you mind if we look about for a few
minutes first?"

"Look about to your heart's content, my dear," she said genially.
"Well, little missie," to Poppy, "'tis nice to see so many young ladies
about Dorsham; 'tis what we ain't over-blessed with. I'm afraid you'll
find it dull without any little companions; 'tis very quiet here, not that
I'm complaining," she added hastily, afraid of seeming disloyal to her
native place. "And what do 'ee think of our village?" she asked, seeing
Penelope's eyes fixed interestedly on her. "Fine and lonely I reckon it
looks to strangers, but 'tis airy," with a little laugh, "and bootiful air
too. Makes 'ee hungry, I expect, missie, don't it? Could 'ee eat a new
bun now?"

Penelope was about to decline, thinking it would be correct to do so,
but her finer natural instinct told her that it might be politer to
accept, and in response to Mrs. Vercoe's bidding she helped herself.
The old dame delightedly invited them all to do the same. Angela and
Poppy accepted; Esther held back with shy reluctance.

"Oh no, thank you," she said. "We are so many."

"Well, they'm only farden buns," said Mrs. Vercoe, with a little chuckle;
"but p'r'aps you'd rather have one of these," and she held out to Esther
an apple. Esther felt more embarrassed than ever. Mrs. Vercoe seemed to
think she had declined the bun because she wanted something better.

"Oh no, thank you," she said, with a great effort. "I like the buns very
much, but I am not hungry. We had dinner just before we came out."

Mrs. Vercoe laid the apple down without saying any more; but Esther
thought she looked rather hurt, and felt that it would have been more
tactful to have taken it. To break the awkward pause which followed, she
plunged into business.

"Please how much each are those little pitchers?" she asked hastily.

"Tuppence, missie," said Mrs. Vercoe, as pleasantly as ever, to Esther's
great relief. "And the littler ones are a penny."

"May I have one of the tiny ones?" whispered Angela eagerly.

"It was for you I wanted it," said Esther, who would have liked one