y, and I daresay shall not see the old house again for many, many
years! I wonder if you will hum as well in India, Busy Bee, or whether
the hot, sultry air there will cause you to be drowsy. But it does not
matter whether it is hot or cold, so long as you are happy! Go back to
night to your place in the drawer, and to-morrow you shall be packed
carefully away in one of those grand new trunks Morris is so proud of
and so busy over. You will have a trip on the deep, deep sea, and when
you next come out you will perhaps see palm trees and black people! You
will have to learn Hindostanee, Busy Bee, and forget all your English
ways of humming.'

"Then my mistress put me carefully back in the drawer, and I lost no
time in telling the fan what delightful things were in store for us, and
we both dropped asleep planning what we should do in India, though not
before we had had a vehement quarrel, for the Fan gave herself such
airs, and said we were going out entirely on her account, for that she
had many relations in that country, and the heads of the family were
called Punkahs, and were high in office there. But we were both doomed
to disappointment, for time passed on, and we never came out of our
drawer after all. We did not know any more until a long, long while
afterwards, when we were routed out of the drawer by accident, by the
old housekeeper. 'Bless my heart, Ann,' said she, 'dear Miss Mary, or,
as I should say, Mrs. Warren, never took her poor little old treasures
after all. I suppose Morris forgot to look in this drawer, for I know
she cleared all the rest. I'll be bound how sorry she was when she
unpacked at Calcutta, and missed them. If we get a chance, Maynard,
we'll send these over to her, when another box goes.'

"This was a terrible blow to us, to find that our dear young mistress
had married and gone away to India without us. The fan was inconsolable,
and led me such a life with her groans and sighs that I wished myself
anywhere else, and could only hope old Mrs. Jones would be as good as
her word and send us over. But she never did, and there we lay no doubt
for many years almost untouched. From what I could find out from stray
bits of news, the house was left in the charge of the old Aunt with whom
Mary had lived after the death of her parents, and who now had two
daughters living with her, both middle-aged women, and one of them a
widow. So there were no young children in the house, and we never heard
merry