Mrs. Gashleigh boiling with indignation against the dresser.

Up to that moment, Mrs. Blowser, the cook, who had come out of
Devonshire with Mrs. Gashleigh (of course that lady garrisoned
her daughter's house with servants, and expected them to give her
information of everything which took place there) up to that moment, I
say, the cook had been quite contented with that subterraneous station
which she occupied in life, and had a pride in keeping her kitchen neat,
bright, and clean. It was, in her opinion, the comfortablest room in the
house (we all thought so when we came down of a night to smoke there),
and the handsomest kitchen in Lilliput Street.

But after the visit of Cavalcadour, the cook became quite discontented
and uneasy in her mind. She talked in a melancholy manner over the
area-railings to the cooks at twenty-three and twenty-five. She stepped
over the way, and conferred with the cook there. She made inquiries at
the baker's and at other places about the kitchens in the great
houses in Brobdingnag Gardens, and how many spits, bangmarry-pans, and
stoo-pans they had. She thought she could not do with an occasional
help, but must have a kitchen-maid. And she was often discovered by
a gentleman of the police force, who was, I believe, her cousin, and
occasionally visited her when Mrs. Gashleigh was not in the house or
spying it:--she was discovered seated with MRS. RUNDELL in her lap,
its leaves bespattered with her tears. "My pease be gone, Pelisse,"
she said, "zins I zaw that ther Franchman!" And it was all the faithful
fellow could do to console her.

"---- the dinner!" said Timmins, in a rage at last. "Having it cooked
in the house is out of the question. The bother of it, and the row your
mother makes, are enough to drive one mad. It won't happen again, I