"Mostly at Whitehall or Saint James's. At times he went to Hampton Court, and often, for a change of sir, to Newmarket; now and then to Tunbridge Wells. He was but little at Windsor." "Did you like him, Mrs Dorothy?" Phoebe looked up, when no answer came. The expression of Mrs Dorothy's face was a curious mixture of fear, repulsion, and yet amusement. "No!" she said at length. "Why not?" demanded Rhoda. "Well, there were some that did," was the reply, in a rather constrained tone; "and the one that he behaved the worst to loved him the best of all." "How droll!" said Rhoda. "And who were your friends, then, Mrs Dorothy?" "That depends, my dear, on what you mean by friends. If you mean them that flattered me, and joked with me, and the like,--why, I had very many; or if you mean them that would take some trouble to push me in the world,--well, there were several of those; but if you mean such as are only true friends, that would have cast one thought to my real welfare, whether I should go to Heaven or Hell,--I had but one of that sort." "And who was your one friend, Mrs Dolly?" asked Rhoda, pursing up her lips a little. "The King's Scots cook, my dear," quietly replied Mrs Dorothy. "The _what_?" shrieked Rhoda, going into convulsions of laughter. "Ah, you may laugh, Mrs Rhoda. You know there's an old saying, `Let them laugh that win.' If ever an old sinner like me enters the gates of Heaven, so far as the human means are concerned, I shall owe it, first of all, to old David Armstrong." "Will you please to tell us about him, Madam?" rather timidly asked Phoebe. "With all my heart, my dear. Dear old Davie! Methinks I see him now. Picture to yourselves, my dears, a short man, something stooping in the shoulders, with sharp features and iron-grey hair; always dressed in his white cooking garb, and a white cap over his frizzled locks. But before I tell you what I knew of old Davie, methinks I had better tell you a tale of him that will give you some diversion, without I mistake." "Oh do, Mrs Dolly?" cried Rhoda, who feared nothing so much as too great seriousness in her friend's stones.