they tell lies. Annie, you are a dear,
but I do think you are doing wrong and spoiling them as much as they say
you are spoiling me."

"Perhaps I am," said Annie. There was a strange, tragic expression
on her keen, pretty little face. She looked as if her mind was
contemplating strenuous action which was changing her very features. She
had covered the finished omelet and was now cooking another.

"I wish you would see if everybody is in the house and ready, Benny,"
said she. "When this omelet is done they must come right away, or
nothing will be fit to eat. And, Benny dear, if you don't mind, please
get the butter and the cream-pitcher out of the ice-chest. I have
everything else on the table."

"There is another thing," said Benny. "I don't go about telling tales,
but I do think it is time you knew. The girls tell everybody that you
like to do the housework so much that they don't dare interfere. And
it isn't so. They may have taught themselves to think it is so, but it
isn't. You would like a little time for fancy-work and reading as well
as they do."

"Please get the cream and butter, and see if they are all in the house,"
said Annie. She spoke as usual, but the strange expression remained in
her face. It was still there when the family were all gathered at the
table and she was serving the puffy omelet. Jane noticed it first.

"What makes you look so odd, Annie?" said she.

"I don't know how I look odd," replied Annie.

They all gazed at her then, her father with some anxiety. "You don't
look yourself," he said. "You are feeling well, aren't you, Annie?"

"Quite well, thank you, father."

But after the omelet was served and the tea poured Annie rose.

"Where are you going, Annie?" asked Imogen, in her sarcastic voice.

"To my room, or perhaps out in the orchard."

"It will be sopping wet out there after the shower," said Eliza. "Are
you crazy, Annie?"

"I have on my black skirt, and I will wear rubbers," said Annie,
quietly. "I want some fresh air."

"I should think you had enough fresh air. You were outdoors all the
afternoon, while we were cooped up in the house," said Jane.

"Don't you feel well, Annie?" her father asked again, a golden bit of
omelet poised on his fork, as she was leaving the room.

"Quite well, father dear."

"But you are eating no supper."

"I have always heard that people who cook don't need so much to eat,"
said Imogen. "They say the essence of the food soaks in through