THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE 

 

 KATHLEEN NORRIS 

 

 TO KATHLEEN MARY THOMPSON 

       Lover of books, who never fails to find Some good in every book, your namesake sends This book to you, knowing you always kind To small things, timid and in need of friends. 

 

       O friend! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom!—We must run glittering like a brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest; The wealthiest man among us is the best:       No grandeur now in nature or in book       Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore:         Plain living and high thinking are no more:         The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence. And pure religion breathing household laws.                            —WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

 

 

 

 CHAPTER I 

 "Annie, what are you doing? Polishing the ramekins? Oh, that's right. Did the extra ramekins come from Mrs. Brown? Didn't! Then as soon as the children come back I'll send for them; I wish you'd remind me. Did Mrs. Binney come? and Lizzie? Oh, that's good. Where are they? Down in the cellar! Oh, did the extra ice come? Will you find out, Annie? Those can wait. If it didn't, the mousse is ruined, that's all! No, wait, Annie, I'll go out and see Celia myself." 

 Little Mrs. George Carew, flushed and excited, crossed the pantry as she spoke, and pushed open the swinging door that connected it with the kitchen. She was a pretty woman, even now 

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