The company clapped applause, and No. 4 especially must have been very fond of laughing, for the glass-bead anecdote set her off again as heartily as ever, and the rest followed in her wake, and while so doing, never noticed that Aunt Judy had slipped away.

They soon discovered it, however, when their mirth began to subside; but before they had time to wonder much, there appeared from behind the door of the wardrobe a figure, which in their secret souls they knew to be Aunt Judy herself, although it looked a great deal stouter, and had a thick-filled cap on its head, a white linen apron over its gown, and a pair of spectacles on its nose.  At sight of it they showed signs of clapping again, but stopped short when it spoke to them as a stranger, and willingly received it as such.

Ah! it is one of the sweet features of childhood that it yields itself up so readily to any little surprise or delusion that is prepared for its amusement.  No nasty pride, no disinclination to be carried away, no affected indifference, interfere with young children’s enjoyment of what is offered them.  They will even help themselves into the pleasant visions by an effort of will; and perhaps, now and then, end by partly believing what they at first received voluntarily as an agreeable make-believe.

If, therefore, after the cook figure of Aunt Judy had seated itself by the doll’s table, and the little ones had looked and grinned at it for some time, hazy sensations began to steal over one or two minds, that this was somehow really a cook, it was all in the natural course of things, and nobody resisted the feeling.

Aunt Judy’s altered voice, and odd, assumed manner, contributed, no doubt, a good deal to the impression.

“Dear, dear! what pretty little darlings you all are!” she began, looking at them one after another.  “As sweet as sugar-plums, when you have your own way, and are pleased.  Eh, dears?  But you don’t think you can take old Cooky in, do you?  No, no, I know what ladies and gentlemen, and ladies’ and gentlemen’s young ladies and young gentlemen are, pretty well, dears, I can tell you!  Don’t I know all about the shiny hair and smiling faces of the little pets in the parlour, and how they leave parlour-manners behind them sometimes, when they run to the kitchen to Cook, and order her here and there, and want half-a-dozen things at once, and must and will have what they want, and are for popping their fingers into every pie!

“Well, well,” she proceeded, “the parlour’s the parlour, and the kitchen’s the kitchen, and I’m only a cook.  But then I conduct myself as Cook, even when I’m in the scullery, and I only wish ladies, and ladies’ young ladies too, would conduct themselves as ladies, even when they come into the kitchen; that’s what I call being honourable and upright.  Well, dears, I’ll tell you how I came to know all about it.  You see, I lived once in a family where there were no less than eight of those precious little pets, and a precious time I had of it with them.  But, to be sure, now it’s past and gone--I can make plenty of excuses for them, poor things!  They were so coaxed and flattered, and made so much of, what could be expected from them but tiresome, wilful ways, without any sense?