Now all go back to your work, said that functionary when he considered the staring and muttered admiration had been indulged in long eugh, and leave us. I want you, said his assistant, touching his elbow. Clear out, said Jefferson angrily, his face turned quite from Phronsie. But she caught the tone and immediately laid down the bit of dough she was moulding. Do go, she begged, and come back quickly, smiling up into his face. See, I'm going to pat and pat and pat, oh! ever so much before you come back. So Jefferson followed the under cook, the scullery boy went back to cleaning the knives, Susan, the parlor maid who was going through the kitchen with her dustpan and broom, hurried off with a backward glance or two, and Phronsie was left quite alone to hum her way along in her blissful culinary attempt. Bless me! exclaimed a voice close to her small ear, as she was attempting for the fifth time to roll out the paste quite as thin as she had seen Jefferson do, what is this? Bless my soul! it's Phronsie! Phronsie set down the heavy rolling-pin and turned in her chair with a gleeful laugh.