There was only cold mutton in the larder; but what did that matter? Dulce ran out in the garden and picked dahlias for the table; and Nan took her mother's keys and drew from the recesses of a dim sweet-smelling press some dainty napkins and a fine old cloth that might have suited a princess. There was a bottle of rare Madeira that remained from their stock of wine; and Dorothy had made a batch of fresh dinner-rolls. Dorothy was always full of resources in an emergency. "Don't fash yourself, Miss Nan," she said, when her young mistress came into the kitchen. "The cold mutton can't be helped; but we have got angels in the larder, and I will just pop them into the oven." Sir Harry roared with laughter when Dorothy's speech was repeated to him. The little puddings were declared by Mattie to be delicious; but Sir Harry could scarcely eat his for laughing. "Who ever heard of baked angels, Aunt Catherine!" he exclaimed, after another explosion. "My dear, it is only a name," she returned, mildly. "Will you have another, Harry? And, Nan, you must pass your cousin the Madeira." They were all seated round the table in the small parlor. It was felt to be a triumph when Sir Harry contrived to seat himself without grazing himself seriously against the chiffonnier or knocking over a piece of the blue-and-gold china. "What a cosey little cabin of a place!" he said with critical approval; "but it is rather small to hold you all,--eh, Aunt Catherine?" "Yes: it is small after Glen Cottage," she sighed. "We had such a pretty drawing-room there." "And such a lovely garden!" added Dulce. "Oh, this crib in not fit for you? We will alter all that," he returned, complacently. "I am the head of the family now, and I must take my uncle's place. I am awfully rich, Aunt Catherine; so you have only got to tell me what you and the girls want, you know." And then he rubbed his hands as though he were pleased about something. But no one took any notice of this speech, hardly knowing how to treat it. When luncheon--which was, indeed, the family dinner--was over, the girls carried him off to the work-room, and showed him specimens of their skill. "Very nice; very well done," he observed, approvingly. "I am glad you showed such pluck; for why any woman should think it _infra dig._ to make a gown for another woman quite beats me. Why, bless you, in the colonies we fellows turned our hands to anything! Well, Aunt Catherine, they are plucky ones, these girls of yours. But we must put a stop to this sort of thing, you and I. I don't think my uncle would have liked it. And as I am in his place----" And here he thrust aside some amber satin with his great hands, with a movement full of suggestive possibilities. He took them all out to walk after that. Mrs. Challoner, indeed, begged to be excused,--the poor lady was already sadly fatigued, and longed for her nap,--but he would not dispense with Mattie's company.