“Come, Ellen,” said Josephine, as she bade me good morning, “do justice to my cook’s rolls. You never eat better bread in your life; and as for fresh butter, look at it and then taste it.” “Josy grows vain,” said Isabel, putting an egg into my cup. “She will tell you how much smarter her hens are than city hens.” “Indeed they are,” cried Josephine, laughing. “You shall visit my poultry-yard this morning, Ellen, and see what a collection I have. Dorking, Bucks County, Polish, Chinese, Java, etc., to say nothing of native hens to the manor born. And such broods of chickens—pretty little creatures!” And breakfast passed very pleasantly, Mr. Bettyman making himself agreeable without being useful, until Josephine was ready to give her orders for the morning and show me her pretty place. To the poultry-yard we were going, sun-bonnets in hand, when Edwin mounted the steps, wearing a most unhappy look, and holding in the tips of his fingers, a something that seemed a conglomeration of mud, mire, and cloth. “My dear Josy, do look at this! One of those excellent cup-towels in the ground—buried actually in the ground! This is really too bad! You should see to your servants—you seem to take no interest in any thing about your domestic affairs. Just see this towel!” and Mr. Bettyman contemplated it with a look of sorrow, as though it had been a deceased friend instead of the skeleton of a bit of crash. Isabel descended the steps and taking it from him, examined it in the four corners. At length she looked up, and the wonder is to me how she could preserve her gravity. “Was your mother’s maiden name Brown?” asked she with _such_ an innocent look! “Why surely not, Isabel,” replied he, surprised. “Why you must know—what did you ask for?” “Because this towel is marked Brown, printed in large letters, and as your name is Bettyman and Josy’s was Singleton, I cannot imagine to whom it belongs.” “Oh! it must have fallen over the wall, Miss Isabel, and belongs next door. Mrs. Brown lives in there, and I expect it blew over with the wind and rain lately. I’ll wash it out and carry it home,” said the servant, as she took it from Isabel, who turned smilingly to Josephine, while Mr. Bettyman walked away a little disconcerted.