"No, nothing the matter; but one likes to be kind to any one so unfortunate; it is a sad case of broken fortunes without any culpability on the part of the victim — one of those cases one often reads of, but seldom meets — a most exemplary young man."
"Who told you about him, mamma?"
"Captain Lawrence, an old school-fellow of his. Don't forget my message, girls. Gwendoline, remember you must have a walk to-day; you look flushed."
At this moment Amy came timidly into the kitchen.
"Good morning," said Lady Murch; "I hope you are getting on well, my dear."
"Oh, may I show you my tartlets, Lady Murch? I should so like to do so."
"Do; I should like to see them very much."
Amy eagerly led the way into the stillroom.
"Look," she said, gleefully. Lady Murch had a good eye for design. "What a pretty design!" she exclaimed; "I must have it for my flower-beds. Where did you get it?"
"From Villemin. It is a very good one, is it not? Only I should have liked two or three coloured jams; but Mrs. Jones would not let me — she said it was extravagant."
"Well, leave them as they are, and I will send Mr. Fox to sketch off the design quickly, as I daresay you have not time."
"Oh, thank you. I have a good deal to do: there is the paste for the dumplings to be made."
Lady Murch swept out and Amy went on with her work.
"Miss Gordon!" shouted Mrs. Jones — that lady's voice was never less than a shout.
"Those tartlets must be baked, or they'll never be ready for luncheon."
"I am so sorry, but Lady Murch is going to send in Mr. Fox to sketch them, so they must wait."
"But I tell you they must be done at once."
"I will run and ask Mr. Fox to be quick." Amy sped away to the pantry.
"Oh, please, Mr. Fox," she said, "would you mind sketching the design before it is baked?"
"Oh, ah! I forgot; Lady Murch said something about it. Ring the bell, Herbert. Thanks. When the odd fellow comes tell him to finish cleaning those lamps, etc. I ain't coming back."
"By Jove, that is pretty!" he said, on beholding the result of Amy's labours; "it inspires me." He drew out of a drawer all manner of drawing-materials, and began making designs.
Amy came to Miss Murch with a very troubled face.
"Please, I beg your pardon; but Mr. Fox was going to draw my tartlets, and instead he is making all kinds of designs, and I do so want to begin to bake them."
"What do you want me to do, mv dear?"
"Please get him to leave off, and sketch them quickly; he will attend to you."
"Have you found that out already?" and Mary laughed to herself as she disappeared into the stillroom.
"Are those eggs ready, Mrs. Reid?" asked Gwendoline, with her white little hands kneading away in a basin.
"What eggs?"
"The white you were whisking. I can't wait a moment. Oh, please whisk it quicker, or my pudding will be spoilt. Oh, quick, quick! What have you been doing?"
"I got absorbed in the cookery-book, and forgot it. Shall I be in time?"
"Go on, go on!"
"But my hand aches so!"
"Only a minute more! there, pour it in — that's right. Now the sauce-pan — all together."
" Evviva! It is on the fire! 'Saved! saved! saved!' as Tennyson hath it."
"Only just in time," said Mrs. Reid, panting. "I don't know when I have been so flurried."
From The Fortnightly Review.
DUTCH GUIANA.
CHAPTER V.
BUSH-NEGROES.
The groups that had gathered to greet us as we landed at the large wooden stelling in front of La Paix, had an appearance not unbefitting the general character of the place itself. Mixed together, yet distinct, the slender, ornament-circled limbs and cringing gestures of the turbaned coolies by the wharf, contrasted strangely with the sturdy forms and independent demeanour of the bush-negroes, here present in great force, mixed up with the more disciplined creoles, many of whom were, however, scarcely more overburdened with apparel — or, rather, sensible of the want of it — than their maroon
