She sat down to her desk and took up her pen.

The plot of a story was forming itself in her brain.

She dipped her pen in the ink and wrote: "He was--" A knock at the door.

Enter Anne.
"Please, mem, a mouse has eat a hole in one of your handsome napkins,--them as I was to wash agin the company you're expectin' to-morrow night.

By rights it should be mended before it's washed." "Bring it to the sewing-room." When the neat piece of darning was ended, the housekeeper repaired to the closet to put on a loose writing-sack.