"To cook, because them star-gazing folks are coming. Morris says Miss Glynne's always talking about finding the focus now." "But these things are poison." "Of course they are. I wouldn't give them to a pig;" and with all the autocratic determination of a lady in her position, she took the dish, and threw its contents behind her big roasting fire. "There, that's the place for them! Mary, go and tell Jones I want him." Jones was cook's mortal enemy; and in the capacity of supplier of fruit and vegetables for kitchen use, he had daily skirmishes with the lady, whom he openly accused of spoiling his choice productions, and sending them to table unfit for use, while she retaliated by telling him often that he could not grow a bit of garden-stuff fit to be seen--that his potatoes were watery, his beetroot pink, his cauliflowers masses of caterpillars and slugs. Under these circumstances, Jones tied the string of his blue serge apron a little more tightly, twisted the said serge into a tail, which he tucked round his waist, and leaving the forcing-house, where he was busy, set his teeth, pushed his hat down over his nose, and, quite prepared for a serious quarrel, walked heavily into the kitchen. But only to be disarmed, for there was a plate on the white table, containing a splendid wedge of raised pie, with a piece of bread, and a jug of ale beside a horn. Jones looked at cook, and she nodded and smiled; she also condescended to put her lips first to the freshly-filled horn, and then folded her arms and leaned against the table, while the gardener ate his "snack," feeling that after all, though she had her bit of temper, cook was really what he called "a good sort." "Ah," he said at last, with a sigh, after a little current chat, "I must be off now. Let's see; you've got in all you want for to-night?" "Yes, everything," said cook, smiling, "and I must get to work, too. You haven't any mushrooms, I suppose?" "Haven't got any mushrooms?" said Jones, reproachfully. "Why, I've a bed just coming on." "Then I should like to make a dish to-day, and use a few in one of my sauces," said cook; and half-an-hour later Jones returned with a basketful, which he deposited upon the table with a thrill of pride. The presence of Moray Alleyne, and the way in which he was taken up, as the captain called it, by Glynne, so filled the mind of Rolph, that there was no room for anything else, and as the dinner went on, his annoyance so sharpened his appetite that he ate very heartily of the two _entrees_ and the joint. It was not until the second course was in progress that a dish was handed round, to which, after a telegraphic glance between the major and Lucy, that young lady helped herself. Glynne took some mechanically, to the major's great delight, and, like Lucy, went on eating. Then the dish was handed to Rolph, who fixed his glass in his eye, and started slightly as he suddenly recalled the trick he had played in the hall.