Especially were they fortunate (thanks to Fancy Tabb) precisely where bachelor householders are apt to miss good fortune--in the matter of domestic service. The boy Palmerston, to be sure, suffered from a trick--acquired (Fancy assured them) under workhouse treatment and eradicable by time and gentle handling--of bursting into tears upon small provocation or none. But Mrs Bowldler was a treasure. Of this there could be no manner of doubt; and in nothing so patently as in relation with the boy Palmerston did the gold in Mrs Bowldler's nature-- the refined gold--reveal itself. It was suspected that she had once been a kitchen-maid in the West End of London: but a discreet veil hung over this past, and she never lifted it save by whatever of confession might be read into the words, "When we were in residence in Eaton Square,"--with which she preluded all reminiscences (and they were frequent) of the great metropolis. Her true test as a good woman she passed when--although she must have known the truth, being a confirmed innocent gossip--she chose to extend the same veil, or a corner of it, over the antecedents of Palmerston. She said-- "The past is often enveloped. In the best families it is notoriously so. We know what we are, an' may speckilate on what we was; but what we're to be, who can possibly tell? It might give us the creeps." She said again: "Every man carries a button in his knapsack, by which he may rise sooner or later to higher things. It was said by a Frenchman, and a politer nation you would not find." Again: "Blood will tell, always supposin' you 'ave it, and will excuse the expression." Thus did Mrs Bowldler "turn her necessity to glorious gain," colouring and enlarging her sphere of service under the prismatic lens of romance. In her conversation either cottage became a "residence," and its small garden "the grounds," thus:-- "Palmerston, inform Captain Hunken that dinner is served. You will find him in the grounds." Or, "Where's that boy?" Captain Cai might ask. "Palmerston, sir? He is at present in the adjacent, cleaning the knives and forks." She had indeed set this high standard of expression in the very act of taking service; when, being asked what wages she demanded, she answered, "If acceptable to you, sir, I would intimate eighteen guineas--and my viands." "That's two shilling short o' nineteen pound," said Captain Hunken. "I thank you, sir"--Mrs Bowldler made obeisance--"but I have an attachment to guineas." She identified herself with her employers by speaking of them in the first person plural: "No, we do not dress for dinner. Our rule is to dine in the middle of the day, as more agreeable to health." [A sigh.] "Sometimes I wish we could persuade ourselves that vegetables look better on the side-table." Such was Mrs Bowldler: and her housekeeping, no less vigilant than romantic, protected our two friends from a thousand small domestic cares. "Committee-meeting, to-night?" asked 'Bias.