book-shelves, and Margaret found them in front of
the fire and brought them to me....

It was only three days before the new family called on us (a pair of
ponies to a basket phaeton--very neat and a nice little groom) and my
heart jumped into my mouth when I saw there were two children in with
the lady: little girls of eight and twelve, I should say. 'Twas the
first carriage callers that ever I'd seen in the place, and Hodges says
to me as he goes toward the hall,

"This is something like, eh, Miss Umbleby?"

But I felt odd and uncertain, and when from behind the library door I
heard the lady say, "You see I've kept my word and brought my babies,
Mrs. Childress--my son is hardly old enough for yours--only four--but
Helena and Lou can't wait--they are so impatient to see your little
girl!"--when I heard that, I saw what my poor mistress had been at, and
the terrible situation we were in (and had been in for years) flashed
over me and my hands got cold as ice.

"Where is she?" the lady went on.

At that I went boldly into the library and stood by my mistress's
chair--I couldn't desert her then, after all those years.

"Where? where?" my poor lady repeated, vague-like and turning her eyes
so piteous at me that I looked the visitor straight in the face and
getting between her and my mistress I said very calmly,

"I think Miss Winifred is in the children's garden, madam; shall I take
the young ladies there?"

For my thought was to get the children out of the way, before it all
came out, you see.

Oh, the look of gratitude she gave me! And yet it was a mad thing to
do. But I couldn't desert her--I couldn't.

"There, you see, mamma!" cried the youngest, and the older one said,

"We can find our way, thank you," very civil, to me.

"Children have sharp eyes," said the lady, laughing. "One can't hide
them from each other--haven't you found it so?"

"Now what the devil does she mean by that?" Hodges muttered to me as he
passed by me with the tray. He always kept the silver perfect, and it
did one's heart good to see his tray: urn and sugar and cream just
twinkling and the toast in a covered dish--old Chelsea it was--and new
cakes and jam and fresh butter, just as they have at home.

I don't know what they talked of, for I couldn't find any excuse to
stop in the room, and she wouldn't have had it, anyway. I went around
to the front to catch the children when they should come back, and
quiet them, but they