The best tea things were duly arranged; cakes hot from the oven buttered; the best green tea put into the best teapot, and all proper honour done to Mrs Jenkins, from which she augured well for her Howels. As Shanno was very busy and very dirty, Mrs Prothero, during her preparations in the kitchen, was at a loss to know who was to wait if anything was wanted. Gladys chanced to be there, and said modestly,-- 'If I could do, ma'am, I would soon make myself neat in Miss Prothero's gown; and if I might just take in the tray instead of you.' 'Thank you, Gladys, I am sure you will do,' and Gladys was installed. 'There is nothing that girl cannot do,' thought Mrs Prothero, as she arranged everything on the tea-table as neatly and properly as Mrs Prothero could have done herself. 'What a tidy girl you have!' said Mrs Jenkins. 'Do she mean to be staying over Hollantide? I am wanting a servant.' All eyes were turned on Gladys as she came into the room again, but as hers were always fixed on what she was carrying, or on her mistress, she was not aware of the sudden attention she excited. 'Irish beggars!' muttered Netta. 'One of mother's godsends,' said Mr Prothero. 'What a beautiful piece of snow,' thought Owen. After tea Mr Prothero invited Mrs Jenkins to go and see his fine fat cattle. The pair went together, leaving an anxious trio behind them. Farmer Prothero was a man of few words when his mind was made up, and was not long in beginning the subject each had at heart. 'I'm sorry, cousin 'Lizabeth, that I can't let Netta marry just now. She's too young, and Howel isn't the lad to study her.' 'Oh! but you can't be knowing, David Prothero, how study he is since his poor father's death.' 'Then let him wait two years, and if he is downright well-conducted, then he may have Netta.' 'Upon my deet! he as can be marrying Miss Rice Rice or any young lady in the country! Mighty condescent, Mr Prothero!' 'Let him marry 'em all, I don't want him.' 'Then you won't let Netta marry my Howels?' 'If he's study in two years, and they are both in the same mind, they may marry, and be hanged to 'em! I never was so bothered in my life. But, between ourselves, I think it's just as likely your son Howel 'ould be study in two years as my son Owen.' 'Oh, name o' goodness, we don't want Miss Netta! No 'casion to be waiting!' 'Then don't wait, 'ooman! Who wants you to wait?' Mrs Jenkins hurried back into the house, and left Mr Prothero with his cattle. 'I must be going now, Mrs Prothero--my son Howels too! Thousands and thousands of pounds. Netta, come you upstairs, my dear, whilst I am putting on my bonnet.' Mrs Prothero was not duenna enough to accompany them upstairs, and consequently Netta gave a note to Mrs Jenkins, cried a little, and helped her to abuse her parents. 'Never you mind, Netta, fach,' were the last words, 'Howels don't be meaning to give you up.'