d the cat gets in and devours the victuals. Get
just what you want for Charlie and a lunch for yourself and Jenny if you
choose."

"Thank you," said Amy taking the bunch of keys from Mrs. Salsify's hand.
Wide swung the pantry door on its creaking hinges, and Amy's eyes
brightened as she stepped in, thinking of the little feast they were to
have up stairs on the good lady's sudden fit of generosity. She glanced
her light eagerly along the shelves in search of pies and sweet cakes,
for she had seen Mrs. Salsify baking a large amount of good things that
morning; but nothing met her wistful gaze save a plateful of burnt
gingerbread crusts which had been picked over and left after the
evening's meal, a plate of refuse meat, and a few bits of salt cod-fish
in a broken saucer. She was about to go and tell Mrs. Mumbles her pantry
was destitute of victuals, when she recollected that lady superintended
her own work, and she should only inform her of what she already knew.
Several similar instances of the lady's singular generosity now occurred
to her mind. She recollected one day, on coming in unexpectedly from
school, of finding Mrs. Salsify buying a large quantity of cherries, and
of her saying she was going to pick them over, and would set them on the
dairy shelf where she might go and eat of them whenever she chose. But
Amy could not find them anywhere, and when she innocently asked Mrs.
Salsify where she had put them, that good lady, after blushing and
stammering a good deal, said they proved so dirty she was obliged to
throw them away. This and other similar occurrences decided Amy to say
nothing of the destitution of the pantry. So she returned the keys to her
boarding mistress, and, without a word, ascended to her room, where she
gave Charlie the bit of fish and crust of gingerbread she had obtained.

"Is this all I'm to have for my supper?" said he, looking ruefully on the
scanty, unpalatable food.

"'Tis all I can find in the pantry, bub," answered Amy; "can't you make
it answer for to-night? and to-morrow I will buy you something nice at
the bakery."

"Why," said Jenny, raising her dark, fun-loving eyes from a problem in
Euclid, "I saw Mrs. Mumbles baking mince pies, and custards and plum
cake, this morning."

"Bah," said Charlie, "I don't want any of her plum cake if she puts the
same kind of raisins in it she does in her puddings. But, Jenny, I think
I know where she keeps her nice victuals."

"Where?" asked J