“Shall I go, Miss Ogilvie?” asked Babie, as Elfie marched off sullenly, since her governess never allowed herself to be disobeyed. “I think I had better go, my dear; Elfie may be under more restraint with me.” “Please give old Mr. Gould and Mary and Kate my love, and I will run and ask for some fruit for you to take to them,” said Babie, her tender heart longing to make compensation. Miss Ogilvie and her pouting companion were received by a fashionable--nay, extra fashionable--looking person, whom Mary and Kate Gould called Cousin Lisette, and the old farmer, Eliza Gould. While the old man in his chair in the sun in the hot little parlour caressed, and asked feeble repetitions of questions of his impatient granddaughter, the lady explained that she had thrown up an excellent situation as instructress in a very high family to act in the same capacity to her motherless little cousins. She professed to be enchanted to meet Miss Ogilvie, and almost patronised. “I know what the life is, Miss Ogilvie, and how one needs companionship to keep up one’s spirits. Whenever you are left alone, and would drop me a line, I should be quite delighted to come and enliven you; or whenever you would like to come over here, there’s no interruption by uncle; and he, poor old gentleman, is quite--quite passe. The children I can always dismiss. Regularity is my motto, of course, but I consider that an exception in favour of my own friends does no harm, and indeed it is no more than I have a right to expect, considering the sacrifices that I have made for them. Mary, child, don’t cross your ankles; you don’t see your cousin do that. Kate, you go and see what makes Betsy so long in bringing the tea. I rang long ago.” “I will go and fetch it,” said Mary, an honest, but harassed-looking girl. “Always in haste,” said Miss Gould, with an effort at good humour, which Miss Ogilvie direfully mistrusted. “No, Mary, you must remain to entertain your cousin. What are servants for but to wait on us? She thinks nothing can be done without her, Miss Ogilvie, and I am forced to act repression sometimes.” “Indeed we do not wish for any tea,” said Miss Ogilvie, seeing Elvira look as black as thunder; “we have only just dined.” “But Elfie will have some sweet-cake; Elfie likes auntie’s sweet-cake, eh?” said the old man. “No, thank you,” said Elfie, glumly, though in fact she did care considerably for sweets, and was always buying bonbons. “No cake! Or some strawberries--strawberries and cream,” said her grandfather. “Mr. Allen always liked them. And where is Mr. Allen now, my dear?” “Gone to Norway. It’s the fifth time I’ve told him so,” muttered Elvira. “And where is Mr. Robert? And Mr. Lucas?” he went on. “Fine young gentlemen all of them; but Mr. Allen is the pleasant-spoken one. Ain’t he coming down soon? He always looks in and says, ‘I don’t forget your good cider, Mr. Gould,’” and there was a feeble chuckling laugh and old man’s cough.