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"How you were all laughing when we came in!" says Violet, presently: "we could hear you all along the corridor. What was it about?" "Well, three of them used to come to see Aunt Anastasia; at least they said it was auntie, but they never spoke to her if they could help it, and were always so glad when she went to sleep after dinner." "I am afraid you must class me with the ignorant," says Mona, shaking her pretty head. "I know nothing at all about thistles, except that donkeys love them!" "An' a nate color too," says this woman, who is bare-footed, beneath her breath, regarding with admiration the yellow tint of the object on which she is engaged. Two pullets, feathered like a partridge, are creeping stealthily into the dairy, their heads turned knowingly on one side, their steps slow and cautious; not even the faintest chirrup escapes them, lest it be the cause of their instant dismissal. There is no sound anywhere but the soft music that falls from Mona's lips..