‘“Oceans of room,” according to Traddles the immortal. Where there is a will there is a way, Fannikin. Besides, you are referring to a rare sort of spice, not often to be found at any dinner, “late or ear’,” as Sandy Carmichael would say. Now you are the lady of the house, will your ladyship let me carry the claret, and the strawberries, and biscuits over to the mill gallery? It is the hour, as a hundred poets have sung in a thousand styles of verse, as well as the season for enjoying the cream of out-of-door delights, including beetles and bats—but I’ll smoke the last away to a respectful distance if you object to them. Don’t let us lose more of the first evening, and Fan, what an evening! The sun is not to say shining on us, he is setting for us, like an affable, royal old fellow, at the height of his June splendour. Come along, Fan.’ She would much rather have gone to the drawing-room, but, to do her justice, she had always humoured Oliver in trifles. She went with him without apparent reluctance, only trying in vain to make him leave the transference of the wine and fruit to the housemaid, whom Fan had drilled into a deft and dexterous table-maid. ‘No, no!’ Oliver would have his way; ‘you go before, and I follow after. Imagine yourself a lady of the last century, Fan, with a black boy grinning, and covetously eyeing the best strawberries in the dish, at your heels.’ Then she had to wait a little impatiently till he exchanged a jesting compliment with Sally Pope, who had smoothed her ruffled plumes, put on her afternoon gown, and was ready to waylay and have a word with the young master on his return, as he passed across the court. Had she not done so, unquestionably Oliver would have repaired to Sally’s region of the house before the end of the evening. ‘Welcome home, Master Oliver, the sight of you is good for an old woman’s eyes,’ Sally hailed him. ‘Of course, Sally, and ain’t I growing a handsomer fellow every day? As for you, why you look a dozen years younger than you did last summer. You’ll be having the banns put up, and coming upon me for a wedding-present before I have time to think what it shall be.’ ‘Come, now, Master Oliver, none of your young man’s chaff—and me old enough to be your granny,’ remonstrated Sally, with great relish of the stale joke. Fan was considerate of Sally’s claims where they did not interfere with the girl’s own plans. She was substantially kind to the old woman, and Sally, like everybody else who came in contact with Fan, had a just respect and regard for her young mistress. Notwithstanding this laudable sentiment, Sally looked upon life in the light that it was alike her duty and privilege to bear her testimony against the crying sin and folly of new-fangled, upstart ways, and to resist them to the utmost of her power. The opposition was fruitless; Miss Fan got the better of the old housekeeper, and Sally was not without a secret, half-grudging admiration of the girl’s capacity for ruling.