“It is all yours, my dear, good Susan,” cried Rose, with a look of warm approbation. “This is so like you—but I’m sorry that Miss Bab must keep your guinea-hen. I would not be her for all the guinea-hens, or guineas either, in the whole world. Why, I’ll answer for it, the guinea-hen won’t make her happy, and you’ll be happy _even_ without; because you are good. Let me come and help you to-morrow,” continued she, looking at Susan’s work, “if you have any more mending work to do—I never liked work till I worked with you. I won’t forget my thimble or my scissors,” added she, laughing—“though I used to forget them when I was a giddy girl. I assure you I am a great hand at my needle, now—try me.” Susan assured her friend that she did not doubt the powers of her needle, and that she would most willingly accept of her services, but that _unluckily_ she had finished all the needle work immediately wanted. “But do you know,” said she, “I shall have a great deal of business to-morrow; but I won’t tell you what it is that I have to do, for I am afraid I shall not succeed; but if I do succeed, I’ll come and tell you directly, because you will be so glad of it.” Susan, who had always been attentive to what her mother taught her, and who had often assisted her when she was baking bread and cakes for the family at the Abbey, had now formed the courageous, but not presumptuous idea, that she could herself undertake to bake a batch of bread. One of the servants from the Abbey had been sent all round the village in the morning in search of bread, and had not been able to procure any that was tolerable. Mrs. Price’s last baking failed for want of good barm. She was not now strong enough to attempt another herself; and when the brewer’s boy came with eagerness to tell her that he had some fine fresh yeast, she thanked him, but sighed, and said it would be of no use to her. Accordingly she went to work with much prudent care, and when her bread the next morning came out of the oven, it was excellent; at least her mother said so, and she was a good judge. It was sent to the Abbey; and as the family there had not tasted any good bread since their arrival in the country, they also were earnest and warm in its praise. Inquiries were made from the housekeeper, and they heard, with some surprise, that this excellent bread was made by a young girl only twelve years old.