“Good-morning, honey! You have had a real good sleep, and I hope it has done you good!” she said, rising, and placing a chair to the fire for her young guest. “Indeed I have, Mrs. Brent; thank you. It must be very late.” “Look at the clock, my dear. It is after ten. Well, I am glad you slept so long. I would not have disturbed you if you had slept all day. Now you are down I will get you a bit of breakfast in a few moments,” said Mrs. Brent, as she took up a tea-kettle which was sitting on the hearth before the fire, and hung it over the blaze, where it immediately began to sing for boiling. “Has any one—I mean has Mr. Lindsay been here this morning?” inquired Gloria. “Oh, yes, honey. Mr. Lindsay and my brother, the overseer, you know, were here by seven o’clock this morning; but Mr. Lindsay wouldn’t let you be disturbed on no account. He asked me to keep everything very quiet, so as to let you sleep as long as possible, which I am sure I have done, my dear,” replied the housekeeper while she was taking the tea-pot and the cannister from the dresser to make the tea. “Where are they now?” inquired Gloria. “Oh, they went right off up to the old house to open and air it. Yes, more than three hours ago,” answered the dame, as she made the tea and set it to draw. “When will they be back?” “Well, when they have done the job, I guess; but I don’t know when that will be,” replied the dame, as she took two dressed partridges from a plate on the shelf, and laid them over the fire. “You see,” she added, as she took a cedar board about the size of a shingle, and plastered one side of it over with a thick corn-meal batter, and put it before the fire, propped up by a smoothing-iron. “You see, they will have to open all the doors and windows from cellar to garret, and kindle fires in every fireplace—that will take them pretty much all day.” “Well, I think, if you will kindly direct me, I will walk up to the house as soon as I have taken breakfast.” “I would advise you not to go yet awhile, honey,” said the housekeeper. And now she became so busy—laying the cloth, then turning the johnny cake, putting the crockeryware on the table, then turning the partridges—flying quickly from hearth to cupboard, and from cupboard to fireplace—that Gloria could keep up no sustained conversation. “Now, then, sit up and take your breakfast, my dear,” said Mrs. Brent, when she had at last got the frugal morning meal upon the table. “These partridges are delicious,” said Gloria, when, with an appetite whetted by the keen mountain air, she had eaten a half of one. “Yes, that’s some of Philly’s game! She shot them on Saturday. The imp is good for something. Only you see, honey, when she goes out I am always in a dread that she’ll never get back alive. Maybe never be heard of again until her bones are found bleaching on some rocky ledge!” “Oh, how dreadful! You ought not to entertain such dismal thoughts!”