e sick of the sight of a nurse, however sweet she might look! I
don't see why you should be upset, my dear, for the sake of my friend."

"Dear Miss Munns, I am thinking even more of my own friend. It is
selfishness which makes me want to have Sylvia with me. We would enjoy
being together and talking over our troubles just as you do. Please let
her come!"

"Troubles, my dear--troubles? Has your cook given notice?" cried Miss
Munns, her mind flying at once to domestic matters, and dwelling thereon
with accustomed enjoyment. She had so many stories to tell of cooks who
had left their places immediately before Christmas, and of the tragic
consequences which followed, that the original subject of discussion
took a secondary position in her thoughts, and when Bridgie began
placidly to discuss arrangements, she fell into the trap with innocent
alacrity. Sylvia could hardly believe her ears. It seemed quite too
good to be true. The week's holiday held out glorious possibilities of
enjoyment, and she began at once to count the hours which must elapse
before her departure.

CHAPTER SIX.

BRIDGIE'S PUDDING.

It was two days before Christmas, and Bridgie O'Shaughnessy enveloped
herself in a white apron, and pensively regarded the contents of the
larder. In a couple of hours Sylvia was expected to arrive, and
meanwhile Mary the cook had been seized with an irresistible craving to
visit an invalid mother, and had taken herself off for the afternoon,
leaving the arrangements for dinner in the care of the young mistress,
and a still younger parlourmaid.

Mary's excuse for requesting leave of absence at so inconvenient a time
was somewhat contradictory and involved. Her mother was failing fast,
and as it was a custom in the family to die in December, it was a
daughter's duty to visit her as often as possible; the shops were all
dressed-up for Christmas, and it was hard that a body should not get a
bit of pleasure sometimes, and the steak was stewed, and could be
"hotted up" at a moment's notice. The invalid mother sat up for a
couple of hours in the afternoon only, so Mary must get to the house by
three o'clock at the latest, and would it matter if she were after
eleven in returning, as Christmas came but once a year?

Sweet Bridgie assented warmly to each proposition as it was put before
her, urged a speedy departure, and was rather inclined to think it would
be wise to stay at home for the night. She could nev