a moment over the mind of the country girl,
still untamed by cellar-kitchens, late hours,
over-work, and want of exercise. But she cast it
aside in a moment, as she would have done an
evil thought, and laughed to kill any care or
sorrow that hovered near.

Susan's aunt, worthy old Mrs. Thompson,
turned to look at her niece, resting for a
moment on the dresser the neat fillet of veal that
she was about to thrust into a cradle spit.

"That's a good-hearted girl, I'm sure," she
thought to herself. "She'll be a comfort to me
as I go down the hill. I always found as young
people as loves the poor dumb creatures turn
out well, and wicey-wersy."

In the mean time, Susan was out there in the
little well shaft of an area, busy arranging the turf
in the cage, which, sprinkled under the pump,
now lifted its green blades and purple tufts of
flowers that smelt of honey, and seemed to bring
a certain portion of sunshine with them into that
extremely "shady" place. The bird, bustling
about in his little meadow, had already gathered
new life from that pleasant reminiscence of
freedom and the country. First, he merely darted
to and fro, quick as a rat, and thrust his head in
and out of the bars, like the immortal starling
aforesaid; but presently darting to the roof,
as if with the fullest intention of beating out
its brains, the poor little exile from the blue
air and white wandering clouds, failing in that
attempt, poured forth in grateful gladness a
little hurricane of innocent and tender music.

"Dicky is so pleased," said Susan, tripping
back and kissing her aunt on the back of her
neck, as she stooped over the encaged veal.
"And now to tell me what sort of an old
gentleman master is. Shall I be servant enough?
It is such a grand house, aunty."

Mrs. Thompson sat down with the fillet of
veal reposing on her lap as if it were a child, and
discoursed:

"He is a very kind, upright gentleman, is
Mr. Dobbs, Susan, and it is a very respectable,
comfortable place for them as choose to make it
so. And the young men in the shop, especially
Mr. Tompkins the foreman, are most well-behaved.
A little noisy and mischievous the
younger ones, but such is life. It's a place,
Susan, to be proud of, as I have found these
thirty year as I've lived in the parish of St.
Margaret-Moses."

The veal began to turn a most delicious
light-brown, and to weep tears of fat over
its own inevitable fate. At sight of these
savoury symptoms, Mrs. Thompson took down
from a nail near the clock, an old black bonnet
with strings never meant to tie. " I must just
run over to Mrs. Peacock's for a moment and
get some parsley for garnish; watch the meat,
there's a dear, till I return. I want to ask her
how her husband is, for he's bad with the
rheumatic fever, poor dear soul. I shan't be long.
I shall be back by four. Master always comes
down at half-past four to wash his hands for
dinner, and he's as regular as clockwork. Then
he goes out to take a quiet turn in Drapers'
Gardens or Old Jewry, to give him an appetite,
and just as the clock strikes five you'll hear
him knock. Good-by, dear; mind the basting,
for that's a perfect pictur that fillet of weal is,
though I say it as shouldn't say it. It does look
rather dark, but I won't take my umbrella,
because the shop is only just over the corner of
our lane. Bless me, how that dear bird do sing!
It's very nice, but it don't go through your head
like a canary do."

With such good-natured chatter the faithful
old automaton, ignorant of all country pleasures,
and heedless of the joys of liberty, toddled
up-stairs on her kind errand. The front door
slammed behind her.

III. THE AVATAR.

Is there in all the world any object so pleasant
to the eye or to the mind (to see, that is, or to
contemplate) as a fresh pure girl absorbed in a
day-dream, lost in rosy clouds of the illimitable
future, aping the toiling thinker, yet merely
playing with the kaleidoscope of the young
imagination?

How could I hope to sketch those simple
day-dreams of Susan's? How could I convey
to the minds of others her glimpses of
thatched roofs overrun with roses; of kind
old faces watching for the postman; of green
lanes and tranquil churches, with the yew,
which no centuries of sunshine can enliven,
looking in wistfully at the windows; the
murkier but still luminous scenes from London
streets, across which passed processions of
cheerful fresh-coloured young men adorned with
white neckcloths, headed by smiling Mr. Tompkins?
All these motley visions a cuckoo-clock
broke up by its warning clamour.

Susan looked up as guiltily at the niddlety-
noddlety bird bowing furiously from the clock,
as if a policeman had suddenly entered and
accused her of some theft. IT WAS STRIKING
FOUR O'CLOCK, and Aunt Thompson would be
back directly. Fortunately for Susan (everything
seemed to go well on this lucky day);
the joint had not burnt; it had gone twirling
steadily and methodically on, resigned to its
fate, and quite at home by this time with
misfortune; it was browning and roasting equably
and well over the bright clean hearth, basted
with its own juice, a patient victim to the fierce
white heat of a rejoicing and victorious fire.
If there were a brownie who watched over
the kitchen of No. 16, St. Margaret-lane, that
brownie had been there during Susan's
day-dream, attending to the browning of that fillet
of veal.

The domestic fairies had been as busy as
crickets, stirring round the potatoes, and blowing
out chance angry puffs of gas which the
evil principles sent to scorch the untended fillet.

Ten minutes past four, and Mrs. Thompson
not back! No wonder; for look, a quick fretful
shower was speckling against the windows.
The good old lady had been caught, no doubt,
by the rain, and kept under shelter.