would invent a Cook Story yourself!" was the conclusion of No. 6's account.

So then the mystery was out. Aunt Judy's wonderings were cut short. Out of the real life of civilized intelligent society had come those

"Fragments from their dream of human life,"

which Aunt Judy had called absurd nonsense. And absurd nonsense, indeed, it was; but Aunt Judy was seized by the idea that some good might be got out of it.

So, in answer to No. 6's wish, she said, with a shy smile:-

"I don't think I could tell Cook Stories half as well as yourself. But if, by way of a change, you would like a Lady Story instead, perhaps I might be able to accomplish that."

"A LADY Story! Oh, but that would be so dull, wouldn't it?" inquired No. 6. "You can't make anything funny out of them, surely! Surely they never do half such odd things as cooks, and boys in buttons!"

"The ladies themselves think not, of course," was Aunt Judy's reply.

"Well, but what do you think, Aunt Judy?"

"Oh, I don't think it matters what I think. The question is, what do cooks and boys in buttons think?"

"But, Aunt Judy, ladies are never tiresome, and idle, and impertinent, like cooks and boys in buttons. Oh! if you had but heard the REAL Cook Stories those ladies told! I say, let me tell you one or two--I do think I can remember them, if I try."

"Then don't try on any account, dear No. 6," exclaimed Aunt Judy. "I like make-believe Cook Stories much better than real ones."

"So do I!" cried No. 7, "they're so much the more entertaining."

"And not a bit less useful," subjoined Aunt Judy, with a sly smile.

"Well, I didn't see much good in the real ones," pursued No. 7, in a sort of muse.

"Let us tell you another make-believe one, then," cried No. 6, who saw that Aunt Judy was moving off, and wanted to detain her.

"Then it's MY turn!" shouted No. 8, jumping up, and stretching out his arm and hand like a young orator flushed to his work. And actually, before the rest of the little ones could put him down or stop him, No. 8 contrived to tumble out the Cook Story idea, which had probably been brewing in his head all the time of Aunt Judy's talk.

It was very brief, and this was it, delivered in much haste, and with all the earnestness of a maiden speech.

"_I_ had a button boy too, and he was a--what d'ye call it--oh, a RASCAL, that was it;--he was a rascal, and liked the currants in mince-pies, so he took them all out, and ate them up, and put in glass beads instead. So when the people began to ear, their teeth crunched against the beads! Ah! bah! how nasty it was!"

No. 8 accompanied this remark with a corresponding grimace of disgust, and then observed in conclusion:-

"Perhaps he found it in a book, but I don't know where," after which he lowered his outstretched arm, smiled, and sat down.

The company clapped applause, and No. 4 especially must have been very fond of laughing, for the glass-bead anecdote set her off again as heartily as ever, and the rest followed in her wake, and while so doing, never noticed that Aunt Judy had slipped away.

They soon discovered it, however, when their mirth began to subside; but before they had time to wonder much, there appeared from behind the door of the wardrobe a figure, which in their secret souls they knew to be Aunt Judy herself, although it looked a great deal stouter, and had a thick-filled cap on its head, a white linen apron over its gown, and a pair of spectacles on its nose. At sight of it they showed signs of clapping again, but stopped short when it spoke to them as a stranger, and willingly received it as such.

Ah! it is one of the sweet features of childhood that it yields itself up so readily to any little surprise or delusion that is prepared for its amusement. No nasty pride, no disinclination to be carried away, no affected indifference, interfere with young children's enjoyment of what is offered them. They will even help themselves into the pleasant visions by an effort of will; and perhaps, now and then, end by partly believing what they at first received voluntarily as an agreeable make-believe.

If, therefore, after the cook figure of Aunt Judy had seated itself by the doll's table, and the little ones had looked and grinned at it for some time, hazy sensations began to steal over one or two minds, that this WAS somehow really a cook, it was all in the natural course of things, and nobody resisted the feeling.

Aunt Judy's altered voice, and odd, assumed manner, contributed, no doubt, a good deal to the impression.

"Dear, dear! what pretty little darlings you all are!" she began, looking at them one after another. "As sweet as sugar-plums, when you have your own way, and are pleased. Eh, dears? But you don't think you can take old Cooky in, do you? No, no, I know what ladies and gentlemen, and ladies' and gentlemen's YOUNG ladies and YOUNG gentlemen are, pretty well, dears, I can tell you! Don't I know all about the shiny hair and smiling faces of the little pets in the parlour, and how they leave parlour-manners behind them sometimes, when they run to the kitchen to Cook, and order her here and there, and want half-a-dozen things at once, and must and will have what they want, and are for popping their fingers into every pie!

"Well, well," she proceeded, "the parlour's the parlour, and the kitchen's the kitchen, and I'm only a cook. But then I conduct myself AS Cook, even when I'm in the scullery, and I only wish ladies, and ladies' YOUNG ladies too, would conduct themselves as ladies, even when they come into the kitchen; that's what I call being honourable and upright. Well, dears, I'll tell you how I came to know all about it. You see, I lived once in a family where there were no less than eight of those precious little pets, and a precious time I had of it with them. But, to be sure, now it's past and gone- -I can make plenty of excuses for them, poor things! They were so coaxed and flattered, and made so much of, what could be expected from them but tiresome, wilful ways, without any sense?

"'If your mamma would but put YOU into the scullery, young miss, to learn to wash plates and scour the pans out, she'd make a woman of you,' used I to think to myself when a silly child, who thought itself very clever to hinder other people's work, would come hanging about in the kitchen, doing nothing but teaze and find fault, for that's what a girl can always do.

"It was very aggravating, you may be sure, dears, (you see I can talk to you quite reasonably, because you're so nicely behaved;)--it was very aggravating, of course; but I used to make allowances for them. Says I to myself, 'Cook, you've had the blessing of being brought up to hard work ever since you were a babby. You've had to earn your daily bread. Nobody knows how that brings people to their senses till they've tried; so don't you go and be cocky, because ladies and gentlemen, and ladies' and gentlemen's YOUNG ladies and YOUNG gentlemen, are not quite so sensible as you are. Who knows but what, if you'd been born to do nothing, you might have been no wiser than them! It's lucky for you you're only a cook; but don't you go and be cocky, that's all! Make allowances; it's the secret of life!'

"So you see, dears, I DID make allowances; and after the eight little pets was safe in bed till next morning, I used to feel quite composed, and pitiful-like towards them, poor little dears! But certainly, when morning came, and the oldest young master was home for the holidays, it was a trying time for me, and I couldn't think of the allowances any longer. Either he wouldn't get up and come down till everyone else had had their breakfast, and so he wanted fresh water boiled, and fresh tea made, and another muffin toasted, and more bacon fried; or else he was up so outrageous early, that he was scolding because there was no hot water before the fire was lit-- bless you, he hadn't a bit of sense in his head, poor boy, not a bit! And how should he? Why, he went to school as soon as he was out of petticoats, and was set to all that Latin and Greek stuff that never puts anything useful into folks' heads, but so much more chatter and talk; so he came back as silly as he went, poor thing! Dear me, on a wet day, after lesson-time, those boys were like so many crazy creatures. 'Cook, I must make a pie,' says one. 'There's a pie in the oven already, Master James,' says I. 'I don't care about the pie in the oven,' says he, 'I want a pie of my own. Bring me the flour, and the water, and the butter, and all the things--and, above all, the rolling-pin--and clear the decks, will you, I say, for my pie. Here goes!' And here used to go, my dears, for Master James had no sense, as I told you; and so he'd shove all my pots and dishes away, one on the top of the other; and let me be as busy as I would, and dinner ever so near ready, the dresser must be cleared, and everything must give way to HIS pie! His pie, indeed--I wish I had had the management of his pie just then! I'd have taught him what it was to come shaking the rolling-pin at the head of a respectable cook, who wanted to get her business done properly, as in duty bound!

"But he wasn't the only one. There was little Whipper-snapper, his younger brother, squeaking out in another corner, 'I shan't make a pie, James, I shall make toffey; it's far better fun. You'd better come and help me. Where's the treacle pot, Cook? Cook! I say, Cook! where's the treacle-pot? And look at this stupid kettle and pan. What's in the pan, I wonder? Oh, kidney-beans! Who cares for kidney-beans? How can I make toffey, when all these things are on the fire? Stay, I'll hand them all off!'

"And, sure enough, if I hadn't rushed from Master James, who was drinking away at my custard out of the bowl, to seize on Whipper- snapper, who had got his hand on the vegetable-pan already, he would have pulled it and the kettle, and the whole concern, off the fire, and perhaps scalded himself to death.

"Then, of course, there comes a scuffle, and Master Whipper-snapper begins to roar, and out comes Missus, who, poor thing, had no more sense in her head than her sons, though she'd never been to school to lose it over Latin and Greek; and, says she, with all her ribbons streaming, and her petticoats swelled out like a window-curtain in a draught--says she:-