Year: 1860

80 from her look he was quite a new conner.
= thought the gentleman glanced curiously a
: her at first, and then seemed satisfied tha
r. all was right, repeated his question abou
ca the dinner, saying that he was a stranger Il
y that part of the country, but had heard E
- much Of the Golden Sheaf that he wished t
+, stop and dine at the house.


- | never saw Mrs. Williams receive any
\ gentleman with more respect and ceremony
- She curtesied him into her best parlor, called
- hOstlers to help his servants with the horses
y took his orders for his dinner, and set about
= cooking it herself, for the cook was hard at
! work making black and white puddings in
:. the buttery My first notion was that she
- bad discovered him to be some great person
"a travelling in disguise, and | half expected TO
u be told of it. Mrs. Williams used to talk a
good deal to me, when we were alone in quiet
! | afternoons but now she went on cooking
! and making things ready without saving a
: word, and there was a queer fixed look in her


face, which | could not understand, but it
. kept me from talking. l laid down my work


and rose to make the eel soup; it was one of
the things for which the house was famous


"a Cornwall dish | believe, and had been


trusted with the making of it Of late, to my
. great exultation. But now she stopped M


" No, Mary, finish your sewing, those
linens will be wanted | will make the soups


myself -


sewed away, wondering who the gentle


man .ould be, and what had come over Mrs.


Williams, till, happening to look up, miss


ed her out OF the kitchen. She had gone up


TO her own room but came back in a minute


with a paper in her hand which she emptied


into the soup and then threw 1T into the


fire


That's the red pepper, 1t will do now"


sad she, taking up a spOonfull and making


believe to taste it, but she did not | stitched


on Tor minute or two, though my blood
was running cold and the boiling of that


soup in the large quiet kitchen sounds thro'


my head sometimes even now. Mrs. Will
/ liams was standing at the window, with her


back to me. never shall know
! what made me do it but it was as if some
one had hidden me- and without a word or
a thought but that it must be done, | ran to |


the fire, gave the saucepan a poke, and sent |
the soup blazing up the chimney. As it |
fixed up. the thought of her anger came |
over me, knew not what ! did, but uttering |
a wild cry of fear, rushed to the nearest


door, and it was the best parlor The next


taing remember is crouching behind the


gentleman, who had started up and stood in


the door, as Mrs. Williams came forward


With two knives, which had been lying on


the window sill, in her hand.


"POOh, never mind the spilling Of the
soup, said he, understanding what | had
done, which indeed was easily seen. 'You
would not be angry with the child for that
she could not helpit, dare say. | can dine
very well without it. You don't know me,
Mrs. Williams he continued coming a
step nearer where she stood, still looking at
me with a deadly glitter in his eyes.


Don't - said she, and did think she
was trying which Of the knives was the
sharpest.


"W ell, - said the gentleman, "you may
know me as Edward Winstanly, but you
don know that have married your daugh-
ter. and brought her home lady. | never
meant to act the villain by her We were
privately married, but while the old man
lived it had to be kept a secret, and we knew
you would keep it. That is why have
come to-day, to surprise you but you will
come to Winstanley PARK, and give us your
blessing. By Joye, ma am, you're not 60
ing to faint - 7


She had staggered back against the wall,
her white lips set, and her eyes growing
CLASSY. He and |, and a half a dozen ser I
wants, whom my scream had brought in, ran t
to help her. but she pushed us away with a
desperate effort, darted up stairs, and we
heard her lock herself in her own room. The
whole house wa terribly frightened the
MAIDS all concluded that Mrs. Williams had
seen ghost. What Winstanley thought, |
do not know, but he asked me no questions,
and never seemed to suspect anything about |
the spilled soup. lie left note for Mrs. q
Williams. and went of with the servant a
little before sunset. We all went about our
business, for work never sackened in that 81
house on any account, and the evening coach A
was expected 9


just before it came, Mrs. Williams bell ~
rang, and the housemaid,said she wanted me. h
When | came into the room, she was sitting h
at the desk looking herself again but her a
face was still white, and she had her long
knitted purse full of guineas in her hand. VI


MARY, said she, you are good girl c.
take this and 90 home-I'll take care that
you get no blame" ,r


II want no money, ma am. " said |, "but "
| Il go home if you IL let me, and never say II
a word except to my father and mother 81


She held out the purse once more, and q,
then pointed to the door, but could say moth
ing it must have been hard pull for her
proud spirit. | got out of the room as quick el
as | could, threw on my hat and cloak, and er
got INTO the coach as soon as 1t came up. ?,
leaving my trunk and all behind me.





prised when it sat me down at their door IN eC
Chatford. lust as the clock struck twelve b.
thew were still more astonished when | told
them what had brought me home. My father el
first called me a brave, good girl; and then 81
advised me not to be proud about 1t, because
it was the work OF Providence, and we were
bound on all hands TO keep such story quiet, ~
about Farmer Dickson s relation. The story al
was kept between me and them, but my b.
coming home got wind. Farmer Dickson ;,
came in great hurry to know why Mary -
had left her good situation. My mother n
would not have reflections cast on her RI
child, so she told him in the parlor and n
what she said | don't know, because the
door was fast shut, but he came out rubbing
his hands and clapped me on the back, say a
ing VI


by jing, you re fine girl, Mary, and if h
Harry dom finish that business, III ask you
to be Mrs. DicksJn, myself


| think | have not much more TO tell. Har al
ry did finish the business. There were some =
people in our village that never got over the
wonder of 1t, but am proud to say that the +
Dickson family did not lose by me, for ten 81
years after, Mrs. Williams died at her Inn q,
and left her whole property in equal shares to >,
me and her daughter Lady Winstanley. She :"
had never gone to the Park but once, and al
then she would neither eat. drink nor sleep b
in the house, but saw her daughter and her
grandson, now heir of the estate. and then
went straight back to the Golden Sheaf She b
never took another girl to stay with her; and
what she said about my leaving, have never II
learned but the maids had story among
them, and they always stuck to it, that IL
went on account of something terrible which SC
came down the chimney, ard frightened Mrs h
Williams hal out of her senses They said
one thing however, which | am inclined to
think might be true-that she never liked to
make eel soup after, nor cared to look at
red pepper.


-- "