of his duties to William, thinking Miss Doane would not know the
difference.

But after the excitement of the first few weeks was past she found
the time heavy on her hands. She had no duties, she did not read,
there was no sewing nor mending for her, and she could not always
work in the conservatories among the flowers; consequently she began
to long for something with which to occupy her thoughts and, above
all, her hands.

One morning when she was wandering aimlessly around the house she
went into the pastry room. There she looked in delight at all the
shining pans and the bowls arranged in graduated sizes on their
shelves.

"My, ain't it nice, and everything so handy!"

She looked around for a minute; then a thought began to take shape
in Drusilla's mind. She looked at the chef thoughtfully; then,
evidently deciding, she gave her head a little toss and with a light
laugh left the room, soon to return with a big gingham apron covering
her pretty dress. The chef looked at her inquiringly.

"Cook," Drusilla said, "I'm hungry for some home cookin' and I want
to do it myself. I ain't cooked none fer a good many years, and my
fingers is jest itchin' to git into the flour. Where's your flour and
things to make cake?"

The chef was shocked.