She had a pale olive complexion, with magnificent, melancholy dark eyes. Many persons would have called her handsome. I took a sort of liking for the girl--if only for her kindness to poor little fatherless Joe. In manner she was particularly quiet, subdued, and patient. "You had a sad misfortune at your house not long ago," I observed to her, at a loss for something to say. "Oh, sir, don't talk of it, please!" she answered, catching her breath. "I seem to have had the shivers at times ever since. It was me that found him." Up cantered the donkeys; and presently away went Joe on the back of one, Matilda attending him. The ride was just over, and Joe beginning to enlarge on its delights to me, when another young woman, dressed precisely similar to Matilda, even to the zigzag white running pattern on the prim gown, and the black cotton gloves, was seen making her way towards us. She was nice-looking also, in a different way--fair, with blue eyes, and a laughing, arch face. "Why, there's Jane Cross!" exclaimed Matilda. "What in the world have you come out for, Jane? Have you left the house safe?" "As if I should leave it unsafe!" lightly retorted the one they had called Jane Cross. "The back door's locked, and here's the key of the front"--showing a huge key. "Why shouldn't I go out if you do, Matilda? The house is none so lively a one now, to stop in all alone." "And that's true enough," was Matilda's quiet answer. "Little master Joe's here; he has been having a donkey-ride." The two servants, fellow-housemaids, strolled off towards the sea, taking Joe with them. At the edge of the beach they encountered Hannah, who had just come on with our two children, Hugh and Lena. The maids sat down for a gossip, while the children took off their shoes and stockings to dabble in the gently rising tide. And that was my introductory acquaintanceship with the servant-maids at No. 7. Unfortunately it did not end there. * * * * * Twilight was coming on. We had been out and about all day, had dined as usual at one o'clock (not to give unnecessary trouble), and had just finished tea in Mrs. Blair's parlour. It was where we generally took tea, and supper also. The Squire liked to sit in the open bay window and watch the passers-by as long as ever a glimmer of daylight lasted; and he could not see them so well in the drawing-room above. I was at the other corner of the bay window. The Mater and Mary Blair were on their favourite seat, the sofa, at the end of the room, both knitting. In the room at the back, Mary held her morning school.