we were welcome: tones and manner a reflection of her master's: the
fruits of long and faithful service. Hers was a face to be taken on
trust.

As we entered, the canon came out of his dining-room.

"I like this punctuality," he cried, "and you are doubly welcome. As our
frugal dinner is not ready, I will take you through my little house
whilst a glimmer of daylight lasts. Let us first lay siege to Juanita's
regions--my good old housekeeper who has been with me or mine for fifty
years--ever since she was a maiden of ten. We will explore the mysteries
of her preparations for our benefit. I always feel like a child when
gazing upon her handiwork."

A long passage panelled in old dark oak led from the dining-room to the
kitchen. Here, indeed, we found ourselves in fairyland. The room was far
larger than the dining-room. Latticed windows looked out upon a small
courtyard, half conservatory, where bloomed a profusion of
sweet-smelling flowers. The kitchen itself was a picture; walls were
panelled, the ceiling was of oak; everything bore the unmistakable tone
of age. Facing the windows were hooks and shelves bearing the brightest
of brass pots and pans. The latticed windows, the flowers beyond all,
here found their reflections multiplied. Every brass implement was of
the most artistic description. At right angles with this, other shelves
bore a small but special dinner-service of old Spanish ware, the only
example of its kind we had ever seen. Below this was an old dresser on
which the silver used by the canon was displayed, with here and there an
artistic water-pot and cooler.

In the centre of the spacious kitchen was a large, solid, substantial
oak table. At one end lay some work at which Juanita had evidently
lately been busy. At the other end was a small pile of the curious
Spanish-ware plates, evidently on their way to the dining-room.

Under one of the latticed windows was Juanita's help-mate: a young woman
busily engaged in preparing a dish of olives. One could have lived in
this room with the greatest pleasure, and never asked for anything more
artistic or luxurious. A savoury smell, as of frying of eggs with sweet
herbs, was in the air; yet were there no signs of stove or cooking. A
huge chimney-place there was, in which half a dozen people might have
comfortably found seats; but nothing was to be seen excepting a couple
of old-fashioned dogs on which some lighted wood and peat sparkled and
crackled, whilst th