on't mind me, Con," replied Cissy as she whisked out of the
room, gaily singing now, the idea of having an object or doing something
banishing her ennui; "Molly and I are the best of friends."

However, on entering the cook's domain Cissy found the old servant the
reverse of amiable, for her face was red and hot with basting a little
sucking-pig that was slowly revolving on the spit before a glowing fire
that seemed to send out all the more heat from the fact of its being
August, as if in rivalry of the sun without.

"Well, how are you getting on?" asked Cissy cheerfully, the sight of the
little roasting piggy which Molly had selected for the repast that was
to welcome Teddy, with some dim association of the fatted calf that was
killed on the return of the prodigal son, making her feel more assured
that the time was speeding on, and that the expected ones would arrive
soon.

But, Molly was not amenable to friendly overtures at the moment.

"Excuse me, miss, I don't want to be bothered now," she replied, turning
her perspiring countenance round an instant from her task and then
instantly resuming it again and pouring a ladleful of gravy over the
blistering crackling of her charge. "There, now--you almost made me
burn it by interrupting me!"

"I'm very sorry, I'm sure, Molly," said Cissy apologetically; and seeing
that her room was preferred to her company, she went out into the
kitchen-garden to seek solace for her listlessness there.

It was a vain task, though.

The bees were still busily engaged hovering from flower to flower and
mixing up in their pouches the different sorts of sweet flavours they
extracted with their mandibles from the scabius, whose many-hued
blossoms of brown, and olive, and pink, and creamy-white, scented one
especial patch near the greenhouse. This corner the industrious little
insects made the headquarters of their honey campaign, sallying out from
thence to taste a sweet-pea or scarlet-runner and giving a passing kiss
to a gaudy fuchsia, who wore a red coat and blue corporation sort of
waistcoat, as they went homeward to their hive.

On the ground below quite a crowd of sparrows were taking baths in turn
in a flat earthenware pan which was always kept filled with water for
their particular delectation; and the butterflies, too, waking up, were
poising themselves in graceful attitudes on the nasturtiums that twined
over the gooseberry bushes, which were running a race with the broad-