off the window-seat and shyed his hat across the kitchen, whilst
Long Tom, the bullock-driver, "thanked me kindly for mentioning of
it;" and every body got up directly and took their hats off. I felt
immensely proud of my success, and hastened the moment of my return
to the drawing room, where I announced my triumph. I repeated my
little speech as concisely as possible; but, alas, it was not nearly
so well received as it had been in the kitchen! "Have you ever gone
to see a London club?" one person inquired. "Ah: I thought not! I
don't know about the Prince, because he always _does_ do the
prettiest things at the right moment, but I doubt very much about
all the others. I fear you have made a very wild assertion to get
your own way." I need hardly say I sulked at that incredulous
individual for many days but he always stuck firmly to his own
opinion. However, my men never required another hint. They came
just as regularly as usual to church, and we all lived happily ever
after.

I feel that my chapter should end here; but any record of my New
Zealand servants would be incomplete without mention of my "bearded
cook." Every body thinks, when I say this, that I am going to tell
them about a man, but it is nothing of the sort. Isabella Lyon, in
spite of her pronounced beard, was a very fine woman; exceedingly
good-humoured looking and fresh-coloured, with most amiable
prepossessing manners. She had not long arrived, and had been at
once snapped up for an hotel, but she applied for my place, saying
she wished for quiet and a country life. Could any thing be more
propitious? I thought, like Lois, that my luck, so long in turning,
was improving, and that at last I was to have a cook who knew her
business. And so she did, thoroughly and delightfully. For one
brief fortnight we lived on dainties. Never could I have believed