CHAPTER XV.

DORIS MAKES A PUDDING.

"Seventeen pounds ten! seventeen pounds ten!" mutters Honor to herself, as with paper and pencil in hand and with knitted brows she makes little notes, seated the while on a corner of the kitchen table.

"I wish you wouldn't shake so!" says Doris, who, with sleeves rolled up and in a huge white apron, is in all the agonies of making a steak-pudding. "If you keep on chattering too," she goes on, "I know I shall leave out half the things, and then you'll never consider how you harassed me with those pounds, shillings, and pence; but 'blame it all on to me,' as Bobby says. Let me see, now: have I got everything in? Oh, I know! a little pot in the middle to keep the gravy in. Now, I shall have to move some of the meat again. There! Oh, goodness me! I do hope the crust will be eatable; but I don't suppose it will in the least. It seems brick-bat-ified to me. Well, I've done my best, anyway." And with a prodigious sigh of relief Doris ties the cloth. "Now," she says, "you can go on, Honor; what about this horrid money? I really wish we had lived in the time of the ancient Britons, then we shouldn't have wanted money at all. It is no doubt a very nice thing when one has plenty of it; but when one hasn't!--" Words fail to express Doris's horror of such a situation, and her cast-up eyes and elevated floury hands finish the sentence for her.

"We are not quite so badly off as that," Honor says, returning to the attack. "I was just saying, seventeen pounds ten a quarter. Take five pounds from that--for rent, you know--and it leaves twelve pounds ten. That's not much is it, Doris? If we want to live we shall _have_ to do something to make both ends meet. Hark, there's the door-bell! Who can it be, I wonder?"

In a few seconds Jane appears with the intelligence that she has just ushered the two Mr. Talboys into the drawing-room, having been quite ignorant of the fact that Molly is there, serenely seated on the floor, working away at the chintz covers which she and the other girls are making for some of the shabby old school-room furniture which now has to do-duty for the drawing-room. Molly is arrayed in one of Jane's large aprons, to keep her black frock from soiling the delicate colours of the stuff; and, as usual, when she is busy, her hair is rumpled up in a fashion which is perhaps more becoming than tidy.

"Don't fuss yourself, Honor," says Doris composedly. "Molly will not mind a bit, and I daresay she will explain the situation in some way of her own which will amuse the old gentlemen immensely. Here she comes; now we shall hear."

"Girls!" cries Molly, dancing into the kitchen, "here are the Mr. Talboys. They found me sitting on the floor amongst all the work; and I couldn't get up at first, because my legs were so cramped. So they came and helped me up, and then we all stood and laughed, till I remembered my manners and asked them to sit down. I only just saved Mr. Ben from seating himself on the broken chair, but I rushed up in time and explained that that was only to be looked at. Then I told them Doris was making a pudding, and that you were busy about something, Honor; but that I would come and see if you had finished. What's the matter? Why do you both look at me as if I had been committing high treason?"

"Well, you _have_ in a way," says Doris reprovingly, "talking all that nonsense. Weren't the old gentlemen surprised?"

"Not a bit," answers Molly promptly; "they enjoyed the fun, and I left them chattering away to Daisy and Bobby as if they had known them all their lives. Now, don't stand there, you two, as if you were going to preach me a sermon five miles long; come and see the old gentlemen. They are most anxious to make Doris's acquaintance."

"Yes, that's all very well," says that young lady as she and Honor follow Molly; "but you needn't have said anything about the pudding."

"Well, I must say I don't see anything very extraordinary in either the making or the eating of a pudding," argues Molly, leading the way to the drawing-room with her head in the air.

With that she opens the door, and waving her hand towards her sister, says:

"This is Doris, Mr. Talboys. She was dreadfully shocked because I told you she was making a pudding, which I think very silly."

"_Molly!_" exclaims Honor, whereupon the young lady lapses into silence.

"I am very glad to hear you were so sensibly employed, my dear Miss Doris," says Mr. Ned, taking the girl's hand and warmly greeting her. "I am afraid there are not many young ladies in these days who can boast of such useful knowledge as that of making a pudding; but in our young days it was considered as necessary for the daughters of a family to be taught to cook, to bake, to preserve, and so on, as it was to learn reading and writing and all the rest of it. Was it not, Brother Ben?"

"Surely, surely!" answers Mr. Ben, nodding to his brother from the opposite end of the room.

In a very short time they are all chatting freely together; and Honor, thinking it a good opportunity, gathers up her courage, after a little nervous glance at her sisters, to tell the brothers of their wish to turn their talents to account in order to increase their income. The old gentlemen are delighted, and enthusiastically promise all the help that they can possibly give in the matter. Indeed, they express profound regret that their age prevents their becoming pupils of the young ladies themselves.

"Ben had a decided talent for drawing as a youngster," says Mr. Ned with a roguish twinkle in his eye. "You remember that wonderful quadruped you once drew, Ben, about which there were such divided opinions? My own idea was that it was a sheep of unusual dimensions; but I believe finally it was settled that it was a horse--possibly an Arab. They are small animals, you know."

"I think I intended it for a cow, Brother Ned," remarks Mr. Benjamin modestly; "but I assure you, young ladies, my talent for drawing was not to be compared to my brother's--shall we say genius--for music. He was actually known one day, after many hours of hard study, to have picked out and played (with one finger) that difficult and classical work popularly known as 'God Save the Queen.' Now, what do you think of _that_?"

Amidst the general laughter which arises at this good-natured sparring between the two old men, they rise to take their leave; and while Mr. Ned intrusts to Honor a courteous message to her mother to the effect that he and his brother will shortly do themselves the honour of calling upon her, when they shall hope to find her sufficiently recovered to receive them, Mr. Ben is entreating Doris to allow Daisy and Bobby to go to tea with them the next day.

"Master Dick here would consider himself too old to join such a juvenile party, I expect," says the old man, patting him on the back kindly; "but we mean to ask you all to come and spend an evening with us soon, if you can put up with two such old fogies as Brother Ned and myself for hosts. We must have someone from the town to come and tune the piano; and then, perhaps, my brother will play his piece to you--eh, Ned?"

"Certainly, Ben; but then we must also bring down that wonderful picture of yours for the young ladies to see. Miss Honor might perhaps take some very useful hints from it;" and with that parting shot Mr. Ned gives Mr. Benjamin his arm, and they trot down the steps together, away down the garden, and into the road.