Peter had from her a dazzling picture of wonderful houses--of staircases and garden walks, of thousands and thousands of shining rooms, of family portraits, and footmen with beautiful legs. Above it all was “my lady” who was always beautiful and stately and, of course, devoted to Mrs. Trussit. Why that good woman left these noble mansions for so dreary a place as Scaw House Peter never could understand, and for many years that remained a mystery to him--but in awed whispers he asked her questions about the lords and ladies of the land and especially about the famous novelist and, from the answers given to him, constructed a complete and most romantic picture of the Peerage. But, as an Encyclopædia, Mrs. Trussit was even more interesting. She had apparently discovered at an early age that the golden rule of life was never to confess yourself defeated by any question whatever, and there was therefore nothing that he could ask her for which she had not an immediate answer ready. Her brow was always unruffled, her black shining hair brushed neatly back and parted down the middle, her large flat face always composed and placid, and her voice never raised above a whisper. The only sign that she ever gave of disturbance was a little clucking noise that she made in her mouth like an aroused hen. Peter's time in the little pink sitting-room was sometimes exceedingly short and he used to make the most of it by shooting questions at the good lady at an astonishing rate, and he was sometimes irritated by her slow and placid replies: “What kind of stockings did Mr. Galleon wear?” “He didn't wear stockings unless, as you might say, in country attire, and then, if I remember correctly, they were grey.” “Had he any children?” “There was one little dear when I had the honour of being in the house--and since then I have heard that there are two more.” “Mrs. Trussit, where do children come from?” “They are brought by God's good angels when we are all asleep in the night time.” “Oh!” (this rather doubtfully). A pause--then “Did the Earl of Twinkerton have hot or cold baths?” “Cold in the morning, I believe, with the chill off and hot at night before dressing for dinner. He was a very cleanly gentleman.” “Mrs. Trussit, where _is_ Patagonia? It came in the history this morning.” “North of the Caribbean Sea, I believe, my dear.” And so on, and Peter never forgot any of her answers. About the carol-singers she was a little irritable. They had woken her it seemed from a very delightful sleep, and she considered the whole affair “savoured of Paganism.” And then Peter found suddenly that he didn't wish to talk about the carol-singers at all because the things that he felt about them were, in some curious way, not the things that he could say to Mrs. Trussit.