“There was once a very dreadful ogre as bad as he was ugly--he had a mouth as big as mine--and he had for his play-fellows and companions all the bad little boys and girls in the neighborhood; but of course the good boys and girls ran away as soon as they saw him, especially one little girl who felt quite sure that he would eat her up if she spoke civilly to him. So she was always as distant as she could be, and sometimes made the poor ogre quite uncomfortable, which of course was quite right and proper; until one day she met the poor ogre when somebody had stolen his dinner--and hers too, by the way--and instead of eating her up as she expected, he did his best to make himself as agreeable as circumstances would permit; and----What are you laughing at, Miss Langton?” “I was laughing at something I was thinking about, Mr. Cooke. You can’t expect me to keep my attention fixed on your idiotic nursery stories.” “Oh! And so at last the good little girl got quite saucy; and--I really must beg you to restrain your mirth at your own private thoughts, Miss Langton. It is not courteous when a gentleman is doing his best to be entertaining--and instructive as well. To resume. And so the ogre wondered to himself whether the good little girl would feel quite sure for the future that he didn’t want to eat her up, and whether she would think he was not such a bad fellow after all and not half a bad cook at a pinch. That is all, Miss Langton, unless you would like the moral.” “Let us have the moral, by all means, if you can find one in all that tissue of nonsense.” “I pass over your impertinent comments in silence. The moral is----What have I done to make you dislike me so much, Miss Langton?” “I don’t understand you, Mr. Cooke. If I disliked you, should I have devoted all my energies, as I have done this afternoon, to preparing your dinner and being to you all that Mrs. Briggs ever was and more--for she never gives you coffee after dinner?” “Your civility to me to-day has been dictated by the purest selfishness. If it had not been for me you would have had to go out and buy your own dinner, and you would not have known which side of the gridiron to hold. I repeat, without me you would have been a forlorn, dinner-less woman. Look here--there is no making a bargain with a lady, because she can always cry off when she likes. But if you would only believe that nothing would give me so much pleasure as to be able to render you any service at any time, and that your reserve really does hurt sometimes, I should be so glad of having had this chance of telling you so.” He got shy against the end of this speech; and Annie turned toward him a face which looked very sweet as well as pretty in the fire light. “I do believe it,” she said, simply. “And I promise you that for the future you shall not only not have to complain of my reserve, but you may think yourself lucky if you do not have to check my forwardness.”