“And now, my dear child, if you think you can entertain John Rokesmith for a minute and a half, I’ll run over to the dairy, and fetch him a cottage loaf and a drink of milk, that we may all have tea together.”

It was, as Bella gaily said, like the supper provided for the three nursery hobgoblins at their house in the forest, without their thunderous low growlings of the alarming discovery, “Somebody’s been drinking my milk!” It was a delicious repast; by far the most delicious that Bella, or John Rokesmith, or even R. Wilfer had ever made. The uncongenial oddity of its surroundings, with the two brass knobs of the iron safe of Chicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles staring from a corner, like the eyes of some dull dragon, only made it the more delightful.