Mrs. Ricketts, however, was not a particularly obstinate character, and when Polly's bright face peeped round her door, and Polly eagerly, and almost curtly, demanded that Maggie should that very moment accompany her on a delightful picnic to Troublous Times Castle, and Maggie herself, with sparkling eyes and burning cheeks, was all agog to go, and was now inclined to pooh-pooh the terrors she had endured in the hermit's hut, there was nothing for Mrs. Ricketts to do but to forget her vow and send off the two young people with her blessing. "Eh, but she's a dear young lady," she said, under her breath, apostrophizing Miss Maybright. "And Mag do set wonderful store by her, and no mistake. It ain't every young lady as 'ud think of my Maggie when she's going out pleasuring; but bless Miss Polly! she seems fairly took up with my poor gel." No face could look more radiant than Maggie's when she started for the picnic, but, on the other hand, no young person could look more thoroughly sulky and downcast than she did on her return. Mrs. Ricketts was just dishing up some potatoes for supper when Maggie flung open the door of the tiny cottage, walked across the room, and flung herself on a little settle by the fire. "You're hungry, Mag," said Mrs. Ricketts, without looking up. "No, I bean't," replied Maggie, shortly. "Eh, I suppose you got your fill of good things out with the young ladies and gentlemen. It ain't your poor mother's way to have a bit of luck like that, and you never thought, I suppose, of putting a slice or two of plum cake, or maybe the half of a chicken, in your pocket, as a bit of a relish for your mother's supper. No, no, that ain't your way, Mag; you're all for self, and that I will say." "No, I ain't mother. You has no call to talk so. How could I hide away chicken and plum cake, under Miss Polly's nose, so to speak. I was setting nigh to Miss Polly, mother, jest about the very middle of the feast. I had a place of honor close up to Miss Polly, mother." "Eh, to be sure!" exclaimed Mrs. Ricketts. She stopped dishing up the potatoes, wiped her brow, and turned to look at her daughter, with a slow expression of admiration in her gaze. "Eh," she continued, "you has a way about you, Mag, with all your contrariness. Miss Polly Maybright thinks a sight on you, Mag; seems to me as if maybe she'd adopt you, and turn you into a real lady. My word, I have read of such things in story-books." "You had better go on dishing up your supper, mother and not be talking nonsense like that. Miss Polly is a very good young lady, but she hasn't no thought of folly of that sort. Eh, dear me," continued Maggie, yawning prodigiously "I'm a bit tired, and no mistake."