'Get to your bed, Margery, child, you are sleepy,' said the young lady kindly to her queer little maid-of-honour. Rachel was one of those persons who, no matter what may be upon their minds, are quickly impressible by the scenes in which they find themselves. She stepped into her little kitchen--always a fairy kitchen, so tiny, so white, so raddled, and shining all over with that pleasantest of all effulgence--burnished tins, pewters, and the homely decorations of the dresser--and she looked all round and smiled pleasantly, and kissed old Tamar, and said-- 'So, my dear old fairy, here's your Cinderella home again from the ball, and I've seen nothing so pretty as this since I left Redman's Farm. How white your table is, how nice your chairs; I wish you'd change with me and let me be cook week about; and, really the fire is quite pleasant to-night. Come, make a cup of tea, and tell us a story, and frighten me and Margery before we go to our beds. Sit down, Margery, I'm only here by permission. What do you mean by standing?' And the young lady, with a laugh, sat down, looking so pleased, and good-natured, and merry, that even old Tamar was fain to smile a glimmering smile; and little Margery actively brought the tea-caddy; and the kettle, being in a skittish singing state, quickly went off in a boil, and Tamar actually made tea in her brown tea-pot. 'Oh, no; the delf cups and saucers;--it will be twice as good in them;' and as the handsome mistress of the mansion, sitting in the deal chair, loosened her cloak and untied her bonnet, she chatted away, to the edification of Margery and the amusement of both. This little extemporised bivouac, as it were, with her domestics, delighted the young belle. Vanity of vanities, as Mr. Thackeray and King Solomon cry out in turn. Silver trays and powdered footmen, and Utrecht, velvet upholstery--miserable comforters! What saloon was ever so cheery as this, or flashed all over in so small a light so splendidly, or yielded such immortal nectar from chased teapot and urn, as this brewed in brown crockery from the roaring kettle? So Margery, sitting upon her stool in the background--for the Queen had said it, and sit she must--and grinning from ear to ear, in a great halo of glory, partook of tea. 'Well, Tamar, where's your story?' said the young lady. 'Story! La! bless you, dear Miss Radie, where should I find a story? My old head's a poor one to remember,' whimpered white Tamar. 'Anything, no matter what--a ghost or a murder.' Old Tamar shook her head. 'Or an elopement?' Another shake of the head. 'Or a mystery--or even a dream?' 'Well--a dream! Sometimes I do dream. I dreamed how Master Stanley was coming, the night before.' 'You did, did you? Selfish old thing! and you meant to keep it all to yourself. What was it?' Tamar looked anxiously and suspiciously in the kitchen fire, and placed her puckered hand to the side of her white linen cap.