The cook, as if somebody had smote her a deadly blow, grew pale; but, suddenly recovering the use of her speech, turned upon Franklin, and, with a voice of thunder, gave him the lie direct; and forthwith, taking Mrs. Pomfret by the ruffle, led the way to the dairy, declaring she could defy the world—“that so she could, and would.” “There, ma’am,” said she kicking an empty basket which lay on the floor—“there’s malice for you. Ask him why he don’t show you the beef in the basket.” “I thought I saw—” poor Franklin began. “You thought you saw!” cried the cook, coming close up to him with kimboed arms, and looking like a dragon; “and pray, sir, what business has such a one as you to think you see? And pray, ma’am, will you be pleased to speak—perhaps, ma’am, he’ll condescend to obey you—ma’am, will you be pleased to forbid him my dairy? for here he comes prying and spying about; and how, ma’am, am I to answer for my butter and cream, or anything at all? I’m sure it’s what I can’t pretend to, unless you do me the justice to forbid him my places.” Mrs. Pomfret, whose eyes were blinded by her prejudices against the folks of the “Villaintropic Society,” and also by her secret jealousy of a boy whom she deemed to be a growing favourite of her mistress’, took part with the cook, and ended, as she began, with a firm persuasion that Franklin was the guilty person. “Let him alone, let him alone!” said she; “he has as many turns and windings as a hare; but we shall catch him yet, I’ll be bound, in some of his doublings. I knew the nature of him well enough, from the first time I ever set my eyes upon him; but mistress shall have her own way, and see the end of it.” These words, and the bitter sense of injustice, drew tears at length fast down the proud cheek of Franklin, which might possibly have touched Mrs. Pomfret, if Felix, with a sneer, had not called them _crocodile tears_. “Felix, too!” thought he; “this is too much.” In fact, Felix had till now professed himself his firm ally, and had on his part received from Franklin unequivocal proofs of friendship; for it must be told that every other morning, when it was Felix’s turn to get breakfast, Felix never was up in decent time, and must inevitably have come to public disgrace if Franklin had not got all the breakfast things ready for him, the bread and butter spread, and the toast toasted; and had not, moreover, regularly, when the clock struck eight, and Mrs. Pomfret’s foot was heard overhead, run to call the sleeping Felix, and helped him constantly through the hurry of getting dressed one instant before the housekeeper came downstairs. All this could not but be present to his memory; but, seeming to reproach him, Franklin wiped away his crocodile tears, and preserved a magnanimous silence.