CHAPTER VII. THE COLONEL'S CHICKENS. 



They censured the bantam for strutting and crowing, In those vile pantaloons that he fancied looked knowing; And a want of decorum caused many demurs Against the game chicken for coming in spurs. The Peacock at Home. 

Left to themselves, Mother Carey, with Janet and old nurse, completed their arrangements so well that when Jessie looked in at five o'clock, with a few choice flowers covering a fine cucumber in her basket, she exclaimed in surprise, "How nice you have made it all look, I shall be so glad to tell mamma." 

"Tell her what?" asked Janet. 

"That you have really made the room look nice," said Jessie. 

"Thank you," said her cousin, ironically. "You see we have as many hands as other people. Didn't Aunt Ellen think we had?" 

"Of course she did," said Jessie, a pretty, kindly creature, but slow of apprehension; "only she said she was very sorry for you." 

"And why?" cried Janet, leaping up in indignation. 

"Why?" interposed Allen, "because we are raw cockneys, who go into raptures over primroses and wild hyacinths, eh, Jessie?" 

"Well, you have set them up very nicely," said Jessie; "but fancy taking so much trouble about common flowers." 

"What would you think worth setting up?" asked Janet. "A big dahlia, I suppose, or a great red cactus?" 

"We have a beautiful garden," said Jessie: "papa is very particular about it, and we always get the prize for our flowers. We had the first prizes for hyacinths and forced roses last week, and we should have had the first for forced cucumbers if the gardener at Belforest had not had a spite against Spencer, because he left him for us. Everybody said there was no comparison between the cucumbers, and Mr. Ellis said-—" 
what is it?
"What would you think worth setting up?" asked Janet. "A big dahlia