"That speaks well for her. I was afraid she was going to mope, and I hate moping people. If a thing is to be done, why do it, I say, or else let it alone, but don't go about it with a long face, as though you were a martyr. Well, nieces, and what will you eat? Here are oat cakes and barley scones and milk scones—and wheaten bread, you see! Or will you share my sister's pot of tea? I am no tea drinker, but I am willing that other people should take it, if they like it!" "Yes, Sister Deborah is no tea drinker, but she makes no objection to my having it!" observed Mrs. Chloe. "Won't you take a cup, niece Corbet? This is very good." I was no more a tea drinker than Mrs. Deborah, but I had been taught never, if I could help it, to refuse any thing offered in kindness, so I accepted one of the little cups, and liked it very well. The new milk was delicious, and Mrs. Thorpe had taught me to like fresh toasted oat cakes, so I made an excellent breakfast. Mrs. Deborah breakfasted heartily on porridge and milk, observing that she had been up long enough to get a good appetite. "Yes, Sister Deborah has been up a long time!" said Mrs. Chloe, who ate scarcely anything. "Sister Deborah is very fond of the dairy and always oversees it herself. That is the reason we have such nice butter. Lady Thurston's butter does not compare with ours. Do you think it does, Sister Deborah?" "Lady Thurston is become too fine a lady to know a cow's head from its tail!" returned Mrs. Deborah. "Oh, but sister, I hardly think that can be the case, for she was dreadfully afraid when a cow looked at her the day we were out walking!" returned Mrs. Chloe, who always took everything literally. "Don't you remember?" "I remember she made a great goose of herself with her fine London airs! I wonder how my old lady ever endured her follies. 'Tis enough to bring her out of her grave to see the way things go on. Nieces, are you afraid of cows?" This was asked as who should say—"If you are, prepare at once for banishment." Fortunately we were able to give an answer which turned away the impending wrath. "Oh no! Aunt Deborah!" answered Amabel, smiling. "When we were at St. Jean, each of us had her own cow to milk—Lucy's was Fanfan and mine was Cocotte. Ah, my poor Cocotte, I wonder who milks thee now!" "We used both to help in the dairy, but Amabel more than I!" I added. "Mother St. Anne used to like to have me help her in the still-room." Mrs. Deborah's frown relaxed, but Mrs. Chloe looked shocked. "But did you really milk with your own hands, nieces?" she asked. "I do not think the nuns ought to have required that. Many ladies take an interest in their dairies. They overlook them and even skim the cream, and mould the butter, and make cheese-cakes and so on, but I never heard of a lady that milked! Did you, Sister Deborah?"