Kencroft, the home of the Colonel and his family, Mrs. Robert Brownlow’s inheritance, was certainly “a picture of a place.” It had probably been an appendage of the old minster, though the house was only of the seventeenth century; but that was substantial and venerable of its kind, and exceedingly comfortable and roomy, with everything kept in perfect order. Caroline could not quite think the furniture worthy of it, but that was not for want of the desire to do everything handsomely and fashionably. Moreover, in spite of the schoolroom and nurseryful of children, marvels of needlework and knitting adorned every table, chair, and sofa, while even in the midst of the town Kencroft had its own charming garden; a lawn, once devoted to bowls and now to croquet, an old-fashioned walled kitchen garden, sloping up the hill, and a paddock sufficient to make cows and pigs part of the establishment. The Colonel had devoted himself to gardening and poultry with the mingled ardour and precision of a man who needed something to supply the place of his soldierly duties; and though his fervour had relaxed under the influence of ease, gout, and substantial flesh, enough remained to keep up apple-pie order without-doors, and render Kencroft almost a show place. The meadow lay behind the house, and a gravel walk leading along its shaded border opened into the lane about ten yards from the gate of the Pagoda, as Colonel and Mrs. Brownlow and the post office laboured to call it; the Folly, as came so much more naturally to everyone’s lips. It had been the work of the one eccentric man in Mrs. Robert Brownlow’s family, and was thus her property. It had hung long on hand, being difficult to let, and after making sufficient additions, it had been decided that, at a nominal rent, it would house the family thrown upon the hands of the good Colonel. CHAPTER VII. -- THE COLONEL’S CHICKENS. They censured the bantam for strutting and crowing, In those vile pantaloons that he fancied looked knowing; And a want of decorum caused many demurs Against the game chicken for coming in spurs. The Peacock at Home. Left to themselves, Mother Carey, with Janet and old nurse, completed their arrangements so well that when Jessie looked in at five o’clock, with a few choice flowers covering a fine cucumber in her basket, she exclaimed in surprise, “How nice you have made it all look, I shall be so glad to tell mamma.” “Tell her what?” asked Janet. “That you have really made the room look nice,” said Jessie. “Thank you,” said her cousin, ironically. “You see we have as many hands as other people. Didn’t Aunt Ellen think we had?” “Of course she did,” said Jessie, a pretty, kindly creature, but slow of apprehension; “only she said she was very sorry for you.” “And why?” cried Janet, leaping up in indignation.