“You have not told me his name yet,” Star said. “Carrol—my Lord Carrol, of Carrolton, Derbyshire, England, and goodness knows what else,” Mrs. Blunt replied, spitefully, but with a toss of her head so exactly in imitation of Josephine when that young lady went soaring among the clouds, that Star was infinitely amused. “Lord Carrol, of Carrolton,” she repeated, reflectively. “I have never heard of any one by that name, and we lived in Derbyshire, too; but of course there are a great many people there of whom I know nothing.” “That’s true, no doubt; but his being a lord don’t make him any the better worth your knowing, according to my way of thinking. But, gracious me! I mustn’t stand here talking, when there are such heaps of work to be done;” and the excited woman began to bustle about the room with decidedly more of energy than grace. “Now, Mrs. Blunt,” Star said, picking up an apron and tying it around her slim waist, “since you have such ‘heaps’ to do, let me do something to help you.” “Bless you, child! you sha’n’t touch a thing. You ain’t going to spoil those pretty fingers for the piano, lord or no lord. I was baking and preserving all day yesterday, and had no time to make the black cake that madam gave orders for, so I suppose I’ve got it to do to-day, if ’tis Sunday.” “And you’ve got all those raisins to seed, those currants to clean, and that citron to slice. It is too bad, Mrs. Blunt, and on this holy Sabbath, too,” Star said, gravely, while she heaved a regretful sigh as she glanced from the window and saw the bright sunshine tinting everything with a golden light. “Can’t help it; it’s got to be done,” the housekeeper responded, grimly. “I expect,” she went on, her thin lips curling with a curious expression of scorn, “if madam don’t work herself on Sunday she thinks she’s keeping the Sabbath in a proper manner and according to law and gospel, no matter how much her servants may have to do. I’ve a notion that perhaps _her_ Bible don’t read like _mine_; that part where it says ‘thou, nor thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant,’ must have been left out of those velvet covers of hers. But you go away, Miss Star. If I’ve got to break one of the ‘thou shalt nots,’ you ain’t going to be a partner in my sin,” she concluded, as the young girl sat down to the table and began to open a large package of raisins which lay there. “No, indeed, Mrs. Blunt, I am not going away; I am going to help you; and if we work nimbly together, perhaps we can get through in season to go over to the chapel for evening service;” and she pulled out a great bunch of the fruit and began to pick it from the stems. “Miss Star, I couldn’t consent to it no way; I couldn’t have it on my conscience that you should do it,” the woman returned, real distress pictured on her honest face.