"Oh, please, Hannah," I said, "this gentleman is from over the seas--he comes from Holland, where the beautiful tulips are grown, and his name is Mr Von Marlo." "Catch me trying to say a mouthful of a name like that!" was Hannah's rejoinder. "He is exceedingly kind," I continued, "and he is going to help us." "Yes, I will help you if you will let me," said Von Marlo, speaking in his slow and rather distinct way, and not gabbling his words as we English do. "I want tea and toast and an egg for father; he is waiting for them, and we must hurry," I said. "Hannah, be as quick as you can." "My word," said Hannah, "what a fuss!" She was really a kind creature. She must have been good to live with us in that queer old house, for she was actually the only servant we kept. She must have been brave, too, to spend so much of her time in that desolate kitchen and in those black passages, for gas had never been laid on in the bottom portion of the old house, and it smelt very damp, and I am sure the rats had a good time there at night. But Hannah, forty-five years of age, with a freckled face and reddish hair, and high cheek-bones and square shoulders, had never known the meaning of the word fear. "Ghosts?" she would cry. "Don't talk nonsense to me! Rats? Well, I guess they're more afraid of me than I am of them. Loneliness? I'm a sight too busy to be lonely. I does my work, and I eats my vittals, and when bedtime comes I sleeps like a top. I'm fond of the Professor, and proud of him, he's so cliver; and I'm fond of Miss Rachel, whom I've known since she was born, and of the boys, although they be handfuls." This was Hannah's creed; she had no fear, and she was fond of us. But she had a rough tongue, and could be very rude at times, and could make things unpleasant for us children unless we humoured her. It was Von Marlo, the Dutch boy, who humoured her now. He offered to cut the bread for toast, and he not only offered, but he went boldly to the cupboard, found a loaf, and cut most delicate slices, and set to work toasting them before a clear little fire in a small new range at one end of the kitchen before Hannah had time to expostulate. Then he suggested that father's egg should be poached, not boiled, and he found a saucepan and put it on the fire and prepared to poach the egg. And when Hannah said, "My, what a fuss!" he found the egg, broke it into the boiling water, poached it beautifully, and put it on the toast. Really, he was a wonderful boy; even Hannah declared that never had she seen his like. The tea was made fragrant and strong, and we put it on a little tray with a white cloth, and Von Marlo carried it for me up the dark stairs. We reached the hall, and then we stood and faced each other. "You are going up all those other stairs with that tray?" said Von Marlo. "Then I insist upon carrying it for you." "But suppose father should come out? He sometimes does, you know," I whispered.