paper in the
case before me, and there were pens in the inkstand, but I never thought
of using _those_. My own paper and pens were under the tray of my
work-box, and that was in the kitchen. The lamp was not too large to be
easily carried; so, taking it up with care, I went into the kitchen. The
two cats on the hearth roused up when I opened the door. One rushed out
and began to mew loudly. How frightened I was! I waited, hoping the cats
might settle again; but they began mewing louder than ever, looking up to
my face, and then rubbing themselves against the meat-screen. I was sure
that they smelt something that they wanted me to give them; so I went
toward the meat-screen to see what it was. There I saw a hand-basket, and
something wrapped up in a cloth. Pushing the meat-screen cautiously aside,
I lifted the basket out. Within I found a medley of things that would have
puzzled wiser heads than mine to know how they could come together. There
was a thick slice of uncooked veal, two sausages, a slice of raw salmon,
some green pease, and seven new potatoes, half a pot of raspberry jam, a
nutmeg, and half a cucumber. I did not dare to untie the bundle--which was
folded up very carefully--but I could feel bits of candles, and a basin
among the oddments it seemed to contain. I put the basket quickly down
again. The cats had been mewing about me all this time. At length I did
contrive to escape. I had reached the drawing-room, placed the lamp on the
table, when I saw the two bits of burnt matches which I had forgotten to
pick up, and which might have left traces of my wanderings. There was
another bit somewhere. In my gladness to have remembered this, I moved the
lamp quickly, and in carrying it toward the floor, I knocked the glass
against the edge of the table; it fell to shivers, and the light was
extinguished. What was to be done? Nothing: there was nothing to be done
but to leave things just as they were, and to creep into bed again.

In the morning I hurried down, fearful lest any of the servants should
chance to go into the drawing-room before I had picked up the broken
glass. I opened the shutters, and soon found that the shattered glass was
not all the injury that had been done. There was lamp-oil on the beautiful
carpet! There seemed no end to my troubles.

"Broken the lamp-glass!" said the cook, as I passed through the kitchen
with the broken bits of glass; "what ever will you do?"--"I can do nothing
but tell mistr