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“‘A most excellent breakfast,’ said I, when the meal was over; and I spoke the exact truth.

“‘Yes,’ said Anita; ‘but I think I shall do better after I have had more practice. I wonder if that man really can wash dishes.’ On being questioned, Isaac declared that in the humble cot in which he was born he had been obliged to wash dishes; there were no daughters, and his mother was infirm.

“‘That is good; and if any of the plates need a little rubbing up afterwards I can do them,’ said Anita. ‘Now we will take a walk over the place, which we have not done yet.’

“When we returned Isaac was working in the garden. Anita went into the house, and then the man of all work approached me; he had in his hand a little piece of red earthenware, which he held up before me in one hand and touched his cap with the other. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘is it all pots? Grass, bushes, everything?’

“‘Oh, no,’ said I. ‘What is the matter?’

“‘Excuse me,’ said he, ‘but everywhere I work in the garden I strike pots, and I broke this one. But I will be more careful; I will not rub so deep.’

“For two or three days Anita and I enjoyed ourselves greatly. We walked, we sat in the shade, we lay in hammocks, we read novels. ‘That man,’ said Anita, ‘is of the greatest possible assistance to me. The fact is that, having been taught to do all sorts of things in his infancy, he does the hard work of the kitchen, and all that is necessary for me to do is to give the finishing touches.’

“That afternoon, when I saw the well-known chef Isadore–for some years head cook to the Duke of Oxminster, and willing to accept a second place in the culinary department of my town house only on account of extraordinary privileges and emoluments–when I saw this man of genius coming down the hill carrying a heavy basket which probably contained meats packed in ice, I began to wonder about two things: in the first place, I wondered what exceptional remuneration in addition to his regular salary Baxter had offered Monsieur Isadore in return for his exceptional services in our cot; and in the second place, I wondered if it were exactly fair to practise such a variety of deceptions upon Anita. But I quieted my conscience by assuring it that I was doing everything for her benefit and happiness, particularly in regard to this man of all work, who was probably saving us from chronic dyspepsia. Besides, it was perfectly fair play, for if she had told me she was going to do all my cooking I never would have come to this cot.

“It was that evening, when we were both in a good humor after a good dinner, that my wife somewhat disturbed my peace of mind. ‘Everything is going on so smoothly and in such a pastoral and delightful way,’ said she, ‘that I want some of our friends to visit us. I want them to see for themselves how enjoyable such a life as this is. I do not believe any of them know anything about it.’

“‘Friends!’ I exclaimed. ‘We do not want people here. We cannot entertain them. Such a thing was never contemplated by either of us, I am sure.’

“‘That is true,’ said Anita; ‘but things are different from what I expected. They are ever and ever so much better. And we can entertain people. We have a guest-room which is fitted up and furnished as well as ours is. If we are satisfied, I am sure anybody ought to be. I tell you who will be a good person to invite for the first one–Mr. Rounders.’

“‘Rounders!’ I exclaimed. ‘He is the last man in the world for a guest in this cot.’

“‘No, he is not,’ answered Anita. ‘He would like it very much indeed. He would be perfectly willing and glad to do anything you do, and to live in any way you live. Besides, he told me, not very long ago, that he often thought of the joys of an humble life, without care, without anxiety, enough, no more, and a peaceful mind.’