To this I at once gave my maternal sanction, and then the nature of the "secret" was revealed to me. Constance told me that she proposed to have a little May dance for some eight of the little school maidens, and that she would like Bess to take a part in the festivities. Eight little maidens are to dance round the maypole, which is to be decked with ribbons and many flowers, and are to sing some old songs; and she added, "If you have no objection, Bess is to say us a verse or two from some old poets in honour of May morning." I fell in readily with Constance's little plans for a village _fête_, and offered the old bowling green as a site for it to take place. "The bowling green," I said, "is very sheltered; it is surrounded on three sides with yew hedges, and I am delighted at the idea of Bess appearing as the queen of the revels." Bess is to be attired all in white with a crown of flaming marsh marigolds on her head, and to bear in her hand a staff decorated with primroses, cowslips, and sprays of beech and willow. Just as Constance was leaving, Bess rushed in and seized my friend's hand, and called out impetuously, "Have you told mamsie? May I? May I?" I nodded "yes," and told my little maid that she was to have a white muslin, a white wand of office, posies of primroses and shining shoe buckles. Bess was delighted, she hugged me and Constance rapturously in turns, and said "it will be the best day of my life." "All we must hope will be a success," laughed Constance, as she departed up the pathway to the old gate-house; "and we must pray for sunshine for the sake of the little expectant maidens and anxious mothers." Next morning I confided to Burbidge the plan of our proposed revels, and informed him that I should like to ask in the villagers. Burbidge remarked in a lofty way that he had no objection--a Yorkshire expression which he acquired when a lad from a Yorkshire gardener; but added severely, that they that come must keep to the paths, not spoil _his_ lawns, and scatter no lollipop papers, or such-like dirt. But Burbidge's old wife, Hester, showed a less conciliatory spirit. In a foolish moment, as I happened to meet her carrying Burbidge's dinner to the tool-house, I confided our secret. Upon which she told me sourly that she was sorry to think "as there is to be play-acting, and even dancing on the property--the monks," she declared, "were bad enough, but this would beat all." Hester is descended from old Puritan stock, and disapproves of all laughter and merriment. Burbidge, who overheard her last words of censure, exclaimed-- "Tut, tut, my dear, you was young once. I can mind thee fine as a horse in bells, for all thee's old now and that the rheumatics lay hold on thee, sharp as scissor points. But the young uns they want their games and their plays, for all as us is getting miller's bags on our pates."