you
please, and be sure of a welcome from me."

How charming that was, to be sure! John quite glowed with pride to
hear her say it, and felt what a blessed thing it was to have a
superior wife. But, although they had had company from time to time,
it never happened to be unexpected, and Meg had never had an
opportunity to distinguish herself till now. It always happens so in
this vale of tears, there is an inevitability about such things which
we can only wonder at, deplore, and bear as we best can.

If John had not forgotten all about the jelly, it really would have
been unpardonable in him to choose that day, of all the days in the
year, to bring a friend home to dinner unexpectedly. Congratulating
himself that a handsome repast had been ordered that morning, feeling
sure that it would be ready to the minute, and indulging in pleasant
anticipations of the charming effect it would produce, when his pretty
wife came running out to meet him, he escorted his friend to his
mansion, with the irrepressible satisfaction of a young host and
husband.

It is a world of disappointments, as John discovered when he reached
the Dovecote. The front door usually stood hospitably open. Now it was
not only shut, but locked, and yesterday's mud still adorned the steps.
The parlor windows were closed and curtained, no picture of the pretty
wife sewing on the piazza, in white, with a distracting little bow in
her hair, or a bright-eyed hostess, smiling a shy welcome as she
greeted her guest. Nothing of the sort, for not a soul appeared but a
sanginary-looking boy asleep under the current bushes.

"I'm afraid something has happened. Step into the garden, Scott, while
I look up Mrs. Brooke," said John, alarmed at the silence and solitude.

Round the house he hurried, led by a pungent smell of burned sugar, and
Mr. Scott strolled after him, with a queer look on his face. He paused
discreetly at a distance when Brooke disappeared, but he could both see
and hear, and being a bachelor, enjoyed the prospect mightily.

In the kitchen reigned confusion and despair. One edition of jelly was
trickled from pot to pot, another lay upon the floor, and a third was
burning gaily on the stove. Lotty, with Teutonic phlegm, was calmly
eating bread and currant wine, for the jelly was still in a hopelessly
liquid state, while Mrs. Brooke, with her apron over her head, sat
sobbing dismally.

"My dearest girl, what is the matter?" cried John,