. "Let us sit under the trees," was all that she
could suggest, "and ask Mr. Mirabel to tell us a story."

Mirabel laid down his pen and took it on himself to reject this
proposal. "Remember," he remonstrated, "that I have an interest in the
diversions of the day. You can't expect me to be amused by my own story.
I appeal to Miss Wyvil to invent a pleasure which will include the
secretary."

Cecilia blushed and looked uneasy. "I think I have got an idea," she
announced, after some hesitation. "May I propose that we all go to the
keeper's lodge?" There her courage failed her, and she hesitated again.

Mirabel gravely registered the proposal, as far as it went. "What are we
to do when we get to the keeper's lodge?" he inquired.

"We are to ask the keeper's wife," Cecilia proceeded, "to lend us her
kitchen."

"To lend us her kitchen," Mirabel repeated.

"And what are we to do in the kitchen?"

Cecilia looked down at her pretty hands crossed on her lap, and answered
softly, "Cook our own luncheon."

Here was an entirely new amusement, in the most attractive sense of
the words! Here was charming Cecilia's interest in the pleasures of the
table so happily inspired, that the grateful meeting offered its tribute
of applause--even including Francine. The members of the council were
young; their daring digestions contemplated without fear the prospect
of eating their own amateur cookery. The one question that troubled them
now was what they were to cook.

"I can make an omelet," Cecilia ventured to say.

"If there is any cold chicken to be had," Emily added, "I undertake to
follow the omelet with a mayonnaise."

"There are clergymen in the Church of England who are even clever enough
to fry potatoes," Mirabel announced--"and I am one of them. What shall
we have next? A pudding? Miss de Sor, can you make a pudding?"

Francine exhibited another new side to her character--a diffident and
humble side. "I am ashamed to say I don't know how to cook anything,"
she confessed; "you had better leave me out of it."

But Cecilia was now in her element. Her plan of operations was wide
enough even to include Francine. "You shall wash the lettuce, my dear,
and stone the olives for Emily's mayonnaise. Don't be discouraged! You
shall have a companion; we will send to the rectory for Miss Plym--the
very person to chop parsley and shallot for my omelet. Oh, Emily, what
a morning we are going to have!" Her lovely blue eyes sparkled wi