When, at four o’clock, she had shaken hands with the last guest, she gave a hearty yawn, jumped up and shook herself, as she exclaimed, ‘There! There! that is done! I wonder whether your papa would come out now?’ ‘He is in his study,’ said the girls. Albinia thought of knocking and calling at the door, but somehow it seemed impossible, and she decided on promenading past his window to show that she was ready for him. But alas! those evergreens! She could not see in, and probably he could not see out. ‘Ha!’ cried Lucy, as they pursued their walk into the kitchen garden, ‘here are some asparagus coming up. Grandmamma always has our first asparagus.’ Albinia was delighted to find such an opening. Out came her knife--they would cut the heads and take them up at once; but when the tempting white-stalked, pink-tipped bundle had been made up and put into a basket, a difficulty arose. ‘I’ll call the boy to take it,’ said Lucy. ‘What, when we are going ourselves?’ said Albinia. ‘Oh! but we can’t.’ ‘Why? Do you think we shall break down under the weight?’ ‘O no, but people will stare.’ ‘Why--what should they stare at?’ ‘It looks _so_ to carry a basket--’ Albinia burst into one of her merriest peals of laughing. ‘Not carry a basket! My dear, I have looked _so_ all the days of my life. Bayford must endure the spectacle, so it may as well begin at once.’ ‘But, dear mamma--’ ‘I’m not asking you to carry it. O no, I only hope you don’t think it too ungenteel to walk with me. But the notion of calling a boy away from his work, to carry a couple of dozen asparagus when an able-bodied woman is going that way herself!’ Albinia was so tickled that she could hardly check herself, even when she saw Lucy looking distressed and hurt, and little laughs would break out every moment as she beheld the young lady keeping aloof, as if ashamed of her company, turning towards the steep church steps, willing at least to hide the dreadful sight from the High Street. Just as they had entered the narrow alley, they heard a hasty tread, and almost running over them with his long strides, came Mr. Dusautoy. He brought himself up short, just in time, and exclaimed, ‘I beg your pardon--Mrs. Kendal, I believe. Could you be kind enough to give me a glass of brandy?’ Albinia gave a great start, as well she might. ‘I was going to fetch one,’ quickly proceeded Mr. Dusautoy, ‘but your house is nearer. A poor man--there--just come home--been on the tramp for work--quite exhausted--’ and he pointed to one of the cottages. ‘I’ll fetch it at once,’ cried Albinia. ‘Thank you,’ he said, as they crossed the street. ‘This poor fellow has had nothing all day, has walked from Hadminster--just got home, sank down quite worn out, and there is nothing in the house but dry bread. His wife wants something nearly as much as he does.’