"that same old seedy-cake! Won't you _please_
make us a treat today, Mary Ellen? Jam tarts or some sticky sort of cake
like you see in the pastry shop window."

"That's the very thing I was goin' to speak about, my dear," Mary Ellen
replied, "if ye'll jist howld yer horses." Before proceeding, she cut us
each, herself included, a slice of the seed cake, and, when we were all
munching (save Angel, who was busy picking the seeds out of his cake) she
went on--

"Now, as well ye know, I've worked here manny a long month, and I've had
followers a-plinty, yit there's noan o' thim I like the same as Mr. Watlin,
the butcher's young man, an' it makes me blush wid shame, whin I think that
after all the pippermints, an' gum drops, an' jawbone breakers he's give
me, not to speak of minsthral shows an' rides on the tram-cars, an' I've
niver given him so much as a cup o' tay in this kitchen. Not _wan_ cup o'
tay, mind ye!"

We shook our heads commiseratingly. Angel flicked his last caraway seed at
her--

"Well," he said, with a wink, "you gave him something better than tea--I
saw you!"

"Aw, well, my dear," replied Mary Ellen, without smiling, "a man that do be
boardin' all the time likes a little attintion sometimes--an' a taste o'
home cookin'. Now hark to my plan. I mane to have a little feast of oyster
stew, an' cake, an' coffee, an' the like this very night, fer Mr. Watlin
an' me, an' yersilves. You kin have yours in the dining-room like little
gintlemen, an' him an' me'll ate in the kitchen here. Thin, after the
supper, ye kin come out an' hear Mr. Watlin play on the fiddle. He plays
somethin' grand, havin' larned off the best masters. It'll be a rale treat
fer ye! The missus 'll niver be the wiser, an' we'll all git a taste o'
_freedom_, d'ye see?"

We were unanimous in our approval, The Seraph expressing his by a
somersault.

"But," said Angel, "there's just one thing, Mary Ellen; if there's going to
be a party you and Mr. Watlin have got to have yours in the dining-room the
same as us. It'll be ever so much jollier, and more like a real party."

"Thrue fer ye, Master Angel!" cried Mary Ellen heartily, "sure, there's
noan o' the stiff-neck about ye, an' ye'll git yer fill av oysters an' cake
fer that, mark my words! As fer my Mr. Watlin, there ain't a claner,
smarter feller to be found annywheres. But, oh, if the mistress was to find
it out--" she turned pale with apprehension.

"How could she?" we assured her. Ev