re was no one so grand as they. He even looked
down a little on his wife; because, till he had married her, she had
never lived in any but a farmer's household. But he was very fond of
her, as well he might be. They had one servant under them, to do all
the rough work. Agnes they called her; and she and me, and James and
Dorothy, with Miss Furnivall and Mrs. Stark, made up the family; always
remembering my sweet little Miss Rosamond! I used to wonder what they
had done before she came, they thought so much of her now. Kitchen and
drawing-room, it was all the same. The hard, sad Miss Furnivall, and
the cold Mrs. Stark, looked pleased when she came fluttering in like a
bird, playing and pranking hither and thither, with a continual murmur,
and pretty prattle of gladness. I am sure, they were sorry many a time
when she flitted away into the kitchen, though they were too proud to
ask her to stay with them, and were a little surprised at her taste;
though to be sure, as Mrs. Stark said, it was not to be wondered at,
remembering what stock her father had come of. The great, old rambling
house was a famous place for little Miss Rosamond. She made expeditions
all over it, with me at her heels; all, except the east wing, which was
never opened, and whither we never thought of going. But in the western
and northern part was many a pleasant room; full of things that were
curiosities to us, though they might not have been to people who had
seen more. The windows were darkened by the sweeping boughs of the
trees, and the ivy which had overgrown them; but, in the green gloom,
we could manage to see old china jars and carved ivory boxes, and great
heavy books, and, above all, the old pictures!

Once, I remember, my darling would have Dorothy go with us to tell us
who they all were; for they were all portraits of some of my lord's
family, though Dorothy could not tell us the names of every one. We had
gone through most of the rooms, when we came to the old state
drawing-room over the hall, and there was a picture of Miss Furnivall;
or, as she was called in those days, Miss Grace, for she was the
younger sister. Such a beauty she must have been! but with such a set,
proud look, and such scorn looking out of her handsome eyes, with her
eyebrows just a little raised, as if she wondered how anyone could have
the impertinence to look at her, and her lip curled at us, as we stood
there gazing. She had a dress on, the like of which I had never