"Quite the contrary; don't mention it, Mrs. Bonnet. Oh, the shops is a sight to behold, Mrs. Bonnet! I never seen anything like this year. It do seem as if people made more to-do than they used about Christmas, don't it? Are we ready, Mrs. Bonnet?" "I am if you are, Miss Pittock." "Now, what kind of shops do you fancy most, so we'll go and look into their show-windows first?" "I'm sure I don't know. What do you prefer yourself, Miss Pittock? We've time to see most everything of any account, anyhow. She's not coming home before twelve." "No more is mine. Suppose we go first to the Grand Bazar. They've always got the most amazing show there. That you, Mr. Jackson? A merry Christmas to you, Mr. Jackson, and a happy New Year!" For just as they reached the door they found the butler letting himself out too. He did not sleep in the house, and was taking the opportunity to-night to leave early. For a second he could not return Miss Pittock's salutation, his mouth being crowded with a last bite snatched in haste. When he had swallowed, he grinned and excused his hurry, holding the door for the ladies. "Sorry I ain't going your way, ladies," he said, amiably, and the door closed behind the three. In the kitchen the cook, with a face like a pleasant copper saucepan, rosy and shining and round, was moving about leisurely, giving this and that a final unhurried wipe. She wore a face of contentment; it was her legitimate night out; with a good conscience presently she was going up to make a change, and off to her family. A young woman in a light gingham and frilled cap sat watching her sulkily, her hands idle on her embroidered muslin apron. A girl of perhaps eighteen, capless, in a dark calico that made not the first pretension to elegance, was washing her face at one of the shiny copper faucets. She vanished a moment, and came back with her damp hair streaked all over by the comb. The cook was gone. "You going, too, I suppose?" said the sullen parlor-maid. "Why, yes. 'Ain't I done everything? There's no need of my staying, is there?" The kitchen-maid went home for the night, too. "No, I don't suppose there is. I just thought you might happen to be, that's all." The kitchen-maid sat down a minute, in a tired, ungirt position, and looked over at the parlor-maid with good-natured young eyes grown a trifle speculative. The latter let her glance wander over the day's newspaper, brought down-stairs until inquired for. "Tell you what I'd like to do!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid. "What'd you like to do, Sally?" "That's to come back again after I've been home for just a minute." The parlor-maid looked up, unable altogether to conceal her interest. The house was very quiet. Through the clock-ticks, at perfectly regular intervals, came the muffled sound of Jetty's disconsolate yaps. Neither of the girls appeared to hear them. "You don't mean just to oblige, do you, Sally?"