whenever they bumped, Miss Elaine frowned a
little deeper, till she really looked almost solemn. In this way she
came under the hanging lamp and entered the door in front of which it
shone.

[Illustration: SIR GODFREY getteth in to hys Bath]

This was the ladies' library, full of the most touching romances about
Roland, and Walter of Aquitaine, and Sir Tristram, and a great number
of other excitable young fellows, whose behaviour had invariably got
them into dreadful difficulties, but had as invariably made them, in
the eyes of every damsel they saw, the most attractive, fascinating,
sweet, dear creatures in the world. Nobody ever read any of these
books except Mrs. Mistletoe and the family Chaplain. These two were,
indeed, the only people in the household that knew how to read,--which
may account for it in some measure. It was here that Miss Elaine came
in while she was thinking so hard, and found old Mistletoe huddled to
the fire. She had been secretly reading the first chapters of a new
and pungent French romance, called "Roger and Angelica," that was
being published in a Paris and a London magazine simultaneously. Only
thus could the talented French author secure payment for his books in
England; for King John, who had recently murdered his little nephew
Arthur, had now turned his attention to obstructing all arrangements
for an international copyright. In many respects, this monarch was no
credit to his family.

[Illustration: MISTLETOE; CONSVLTETH YE COOKYNGE BOOKE]

When the Governess heard Miss Elaine open the door behind her, she
thought it was the family Chaplain, and, quickly throwing the shocking
story on the floor, she opened the household cookery-book,--an
enormous volume many feet square, suspended from the ceiling by strong
chains, and containing several thousand receipts for English, French,
Italian, Croatian, Dalmatian, and Acarnanian dishes, beginning with a
poem in blank verse written to his confectioner by the Emperor Charles
the Fat. German cooking was omitted.

"I'm looking up a new plum-pudding for Christmas," said Mistletoe,
nervously, keeping her virtuous eyes on the volume.

"Ah, indeed!" Miss Elaine answered, indifferently. She was thinking
harder than ever,--was, in fact, inventing a little plan.

"Oh, so it's you, deary!" cried the Governess, much relieved. She had
feared the Chaplain might pick up the guilty magazine and find its
pages cut only at the place where the French story w