"She's gone," said she, "without waiting for me. She doesn't know enough about good society to understand that a lady doesn't make her appearance the moment she's called for." "I shouldn't wonder if she was in the nursery all the time," said Mudlaw; "for I heard a stepping up there a while ago, and the children hain't got home yet. Where did you take her to, you?" "Why, I tuck her in the dhrawin'-room, sure, as you tould me, right overhid," said Peggy, in some alarm. "You blunderin' Irish gumphead! Don't you know the drawin'-room from the nursery?" "Och! but I thought it was the dhrawin'-room; for didn't I see the young masther a dhrawin' his cart, and wasn't Shukey a dhrawin' the baby about the floore by its feet, when I went up to take the wather this mornin'?" "There, I told you she was a born fool!" said Mudlaw, in a rage. "She'll never know nothing--she'll never learn nothing--you may as well send her off first as last." "Hush! don't speak so loud," said Mrs. Philpot, in a whisper. "She can hear all you say--she _has_ heard enough already. Dear me, what _shall_ I do? The colonel will be so provoked! How could you be so dumb, Peggy? Run right up and take her into the drawing-room. Stop! you needn't; you will make some other mistake. I'll go myself." In a state of mind not to be envied, Mrs. Philpot hastened to the nursery. But, as she entertained a faint hope that the conversation below had not penetrated through Mrs. Darling's bonnet, she endeavored to hide her embarrassment under an affable smile, extended her hand gracefully, and drawled out a genteel welcome to her visitor. "Delighted to see you, Mrs. Darling; but very sorry you should have been brought into the nursery"--no wonder she's sorry, thought Mrs. Darling--"these raw Irish girls are so stupid! Walk into the parlor, if you please." "No, I thank you, Mrs. Philpot, I'd as soon sit here," returned Mrs. Darling. "I can only stay a moment. I called to ask for a receipt for potato pudding. Mr. Darling tasted one when he dined with Colonel Philpot, and liked it so much that he wished me to get directions for making it." "Potato pudding? Ah, yes, I recollect. Mudlaw, my cook, does make a very good plain thing that she calls a potato pudding; but I know nothing about her manner of preparing it. I will call her, however, and she shall tell you herself." Thereupon she pulled the bell, and Peggy shortly appeared, looking more frightened and bewildered than ever. "Send Mudlaw here," said Mrs. Philpot. She would not have dared to address her "chief cook and bottle-washer" without the respectful title of _Mrs._; but it was rather more grand to omit it, and she always did so when not in her hearing. "The missus said I was to send you there," said Peggy. "_You_ send _me_!" exclaimed the indignant cook. "I guess when I go for _your_ sending, it'll be after this."