"A gentleman farmer is very different from a person in trade; but I can't expect anything better from a woman who boils coffee, and never heard of bouillon.

But remember the things I have told you, and thank your stars that a cook as high up in the profession as I am is willing to tell you anything.

Are you the only servant in this house ?" "There's a man by the name of Mike," said Molly, "a nager, though you wouldn't think it from his name.

He helps me sometimes, an' he helps iverybody else other times." "Is that the man ?" said La Fleur, looking out of the window.
"That's him, mum," said Molly; "he's jest goin' to the woodpile with his axe." "I wish to speak to him," said La Fleur, and with a very slight nod of the head she left the kitchen by the door that led into the grounds.
Looking after her, Molly exclaimed,-- "Drat you, for a stuck-up, cross-grained, meddlin', bumble-bee-backed old hag of a soup-slopper; to come stickin' yer big nose into other people's kitchens! If there was a rale misthress to the house instead of the little gal upstairs, you'd be rowled down the front steps afore you'd been let come into my kitchen." And with this she returned to her potatoes.
La Fleur stopped at the woodpile, as if in passing she had happened to notice a good man splitting logs.

In her blandest voice she accosted Mike and bade him good-day.
"I think you must be Michael," she said.