the outer door, which opened into a little garden at the back of the
house. There was a miniature parlor behind the kitchen, filled with
furniture worked in tent stitch by Ann Holland's mother, and carefully
covered with white dimity; but it was only entered on most important
occasions. Even Mr. Chantrey had never yet been invited into it; for any
event short of a solemn crisis the kitchen was considered good enough.

"You haven't heard anything of Mrs, Chantrey, then?" repeated Mrs.
Brown, still in low and important tones, as she seated herself in a
three-cornered chair, a seat of honor rather than of ease, as one could
not get a comfortable position without sitting sideways.

"No, nothing," answered. Ann Holland; "nothing bad about Mr. Chantrey, I
hope. Have they had any bad news of him?"

Mrs. Brown was first cousin to Mrs. Bolton's butler, and was naturally
regarded as an oracle with regard to all that went on at Bolton Villa.

"Oh no, he's all right: not him, but her," she answered, almost in a
whisper; "I can't say for certain it's true, for Cousin James purses up
his mouth ever so when it's spoken, of; but cook swears to it, and he
doesn't deny it, you know. I shouldn't like it to go any farther; but I
can depend on yon, Miss Holland. A trusted woman like you must be choked
up with secrets, I'm sure. I often and often say, Ann Holland knows some
things, and could tell them, too, if she'd only open her lips."

"You're right, Mrs. Brown," said Ann Holland, with a gratified smile;
"you may trust me with any secret."

"Well, then, they say," continued Mrs, Brown, "that Mrs. Chantrey takes