ve never had such a poor
show of gooseberries.'

'The potatoes are doing finely, though,' returned Mr. O'Brien, who had
risen to the bait; 'after tea I hope you will walk round the garden with
me, ma'am, and you will be surprised to see the way some of the things
have improved.'

'Tea is ready, father,' observed Mrs. Baxter at this point. 'Miss Ross,
will you take that chair by the window? you will feel the air there. I
am going to ask a blessing, father: "For what we are going to receive
the Lord make us truly thankful." Yes, Miss Ross, those are your
favourite scones, and Hannah is baking some more; there's plum preserve
and lemon marmalade and home-made seed-cake.' And Mrs. Baxter pressed
one viand after another upon her guest, before she could turn her
attention to the teapot, which was at present enveloped in a huge
braided cosy.

'Dear me! I shall never be able to eat my dinner, Mrs. Baxter, and then
mother will be miserable; you have no idea the fuss she makes if I ever
say I am not hungry.'

'She is perfectly right, Miss Ross,' was the mournful answer; 'there is
no blessing to equal good health, and health mainly depends on appetite.
Where would father and I have been if we had not kept our health? It is
a wonderful blessing, is it not, father, that I have been so strong? or
I should have sunk long ago. But, as poor dear mother used to say, there
is no blessing like a good constitution.'

Everyone has his or her style of conversation, just as all authors have
their own peculiar style of writing. Mrs. Baxter, for example, delighted
in iteration; she had a habit of taking a particular word and working it
to death. Michael was the first person to notice this little
peculiarity. After his first visit to Vineyard Cottage, as he was
driving Audrey home in the dog-cart, he said to her:

'Did you notice how often Mrs. Baxter used the same word? I am sure she
said "trouble" fifty times, if she said it once. She is not a
bad-looking young woman, but she is a painfully monotonous talker. I
should say she is totally devoid of originality.'

'I know nothing about health, Mrs. Baxter,' returned Audrey with
aggressive cheerfulness. 'I am always so well, you see. I never had the
doctor in my life, except when I had the measles.'

'And the whooping-cough, Miss Ross. Don't say you have not had the
whooping-cough!'

'Oh yes; when I was a baby. But I hope you do not expect me to remember
that.'

'I am glad to hear it,