"Once," I told my little maid, "I had read that a poor scullion, in the Middle Ages, had one that he taught to turn the spit. So you see, Bess," I said, "hedgehogs can be very useful creatures; not at all the wicked murderous race that Burbidge would wish you to believe." Bess looked at me askance. "I cannot like them as much as you, mama," she answered in a pained voice; "for Nana said too that they sucked the cows. And see how this one has pricked poor Mouse's nose." "Well, let us leave the hedgehog," at last I said, "and wash foolish Mouse's wounds." So we wandered off to the fountain, and dipped our handkerchiefs into the clear water, and washed my great hound's fond and foolish nose. At first, Mouse objected; but as Bess told her, "One gets used to washing, same as lessons," so after a minute or two, she sat by us until we had washed away all traces of the fray. As we were thus engaged, Auguste, the French cook, went by. I noticed, as he passed us, that he carried in his hand a basket. "Voyez, madame," he cried. "Quelle belle trouvaille. Elles sont superbes." And he showed me a mass of creepy, crawly, slimy brown snails. Auguste was as proud as if he had found a basketful of new-laid eggs, and proposed with his aides to have a magnificent _souper_. "Quelle luxe!" I heard him say to himself, as he made his way to his kitchen, "et dire dans toute cette valetaille il n'y a que nous, qui en voudrons." Auguste will steep them in cold water, and then cook them. I must honestly confess I have never had the courage to eat one, but I believe now that there is a growing demand for escargots in London, and I have been told that in one shop alone, more than a hundred thousand are sold each season. "Come on, mamsie," at last cried Bess. "Even Nana couldn't make Mouse cleaner." So my little maid and I went off hand-in-hand across the well-tended lawns of the Cloister garth. [Sidenote: "ONLY YOU AND ME AND MOUSE"] Bess was full of confidences. "Mamsie," said my little maid, "I never want to grow any older, 'cause why--I should have to wear long, long dresses, like grown-ups, and then, how could I climb the trees. But I should like all days to go on just the same as to-day--no lessons, no rain, no governesses, nobody but you and me and Mouse." I caught something of the child's enthusiasm. The glory of the summer was like an intoxicating draught. "Wouldn't it be lovely, dear," I said, "to have no commonplaces, no tiresome duties--only summer and the song of birds; and never to catch cold, or feel ill, or tired, or worried?" Bess laughed, and we kissed each other.