yours, for substance, glosh, and fibre, I never
yet did put a comb!—Adoo.'"

"Well now, to business," said Mrs. Mapes.
"What shall you say, my dear? Of course, if
master's offer's serious, you accept it. The
only question then is, is it serious '?"

"Yes, ma'am, it is," said Mrs. Turnover,
resolutely. "Make yourself quite easy as to that.
When a gentleman asks you in plain words
whether you'll be his wife, I suppose he means
to ask whether his wife you will be."

Mrs. Mapes admitted that the phrase might
be regarded as convertible; but, as a final
conjecture, would submit to the general suffrage,
whether it were not possible that the young
master's desire to retain permanently near him
a person so skilled in her peculiar vocation, was
the real motive of his choice.

Mrs. Turnover thought within herself that the
object might have been attained on somewhat
cheaper conditions; but she made no reply.

"Well, I always fancied there was some one
else master fancied," said the housekeeper.

"You mean— hum— down there, the Haie,"
said Mr. Fanshaw, darkly.

Mrs. Mapes nodded. Esther suddenly felt
herself becoming interested in the conversation;
but it was not pursued in this direction, and,
feeling weary, she bade the party good night, reminding
them that she had to be stirring early.

"Master's made a mistake," said Mr. Fanshaw,
in an under tone to the housekeeper, during the
little movement caused by Esther's exit, "and
took the wrong number of the family!"

Mrs. Mapes smiled, and the council, too
much interested in their subject to think of
separating at present, returned to the discussion.

"Don't you feel all in a twitter, ma'am?"
inquired Dolly.

Mrs. Turnover responded to the effect that
"twitter" time was past, and all she was now
conscious of, was a sort of heavy settlin' down.

It occurred to some of the circle that this
state of things would shortly become more
applicable to the other party to the projected
alliance.

It being now universally assumed that Sir
George's suit was to receive a favourable answer,
the next consideration was how it should
be conveyed; and on this point, Mrs. Turnover,
after a little coquetting, frankly avowed
herself at fault, and invited co-operation.

"I should do it respectful but cordiwal," said
Mr. Fanshaw.

Assent, qualified by an unspoken impression
that, on such a subject, Mr. Fanshaw should
have permitted the ladies to speak first.

"Pop upon him when he leaves his room,"
proposed Gertrude. "He'd take it kind."

"I think I wouldn't be too forward," said the
housekeeper.

"Send word you couldn't come for orders
about dinner, being that you was hupset," said
Dolly.

"I think I wouldn't be too backward" said
Mrs. Mapes.

"Meet him promiscus, and say you've
loved him these twelve long year, and is it come
to this?" was the daring counsel of Martha,
the kitchen-maid.

"I won't do nothin o' the sort," said the
honest-hearted cook, indignantly. "Besides, a
precious fool you'd make me out to be, spoonin'
on a little boy in fall-down collars! Catch me
saying it."

"You must give master his answer, child,"
said Mrs. Mapes, in full enjoyment of the difficulty.
"Come, now, rouse yourself, and think
about what you're to say."

"I won't say nothin'," said the cook; "I'll
—I'll write."
But this craven resolution was received as
it deserved, with manifest disfavour. Nevertheless,
the lady was firm. She would reply by
letter.

"And slip it under his door," was one suggestion.

"Or pin it on the breakfast 'am," was another.

"Or lay it in a hopen tart," was a third.

It seemed that the idea of sending such a
letter in the ordinary way was not to be
dreamed of.

"Well, now, about the letter," said Mrs.
Mapes, settling herself comfortably. "I suppose
you don't want any assistance there"

(In other words, "I know we shall have to
do it for you; so now for some fun!")

Mrs. Turnover declared that she would be
greatly obliged for any suggestions:

"The last words Turnover ses to me, so as
to be understood distinct," added the good lady,
deliberately, was these: 'Never, Barbary,
never be above hearing adwice that's freely
offered. The best of that sort generally is, that
you needn't foller it. Adoo!'"

Far from being deterred by this last qualification,
the council plunged at once into the discussion,
and a consultation ensued, in which
everybody, except Mr. Fanshaw, took part at
the same moment. That gentleman, remarking
that the subject was becoming delicate, took
his departure.

Numerous were the forms of love-letters adduced
as precedents, and many interesting
quotations—chiefly, it would seem, derived from
valentines—imparted a poetic character to the
debate. But none of these exactly hit the
point. It is not every day that a young baronet
of ancient lineage, aged twenty-five, proposes
to his cook, of fifty.

"This will never do," said the lady-president,
getting rather weary of the bootless clamour.
"Suppose I write down what each or
any one has to propose, and we can correct the
letter afterwards."

The proposition was adopted. Paper and
ink were produced, and Mrs, Mapes, whose
right hand was fortunately effective, commenced
the epistle thus:

'''Honoured Sir-——'"

"I don't know about 'honoured,' " said
Mrs. Turnover. "Don't it read distant?"

"I thought we were to write the letter first,"
said the housekeeper. " Now, then—'Honoured
Sir——'"