June twenty-first, the day of the birthday, was cloudy and unsettled at

sunrise, but towards noon it cleared up bravely.

We, in the servants' hall, began this happy anniversary, as usual, by

offering our little presents to Miss Rachel, with the regular speech

delivered annually by me as the chief. I follow the plan adopted by the

Queen in opening Parliament--namely, the plan of saying much the same

thing regularly every year. Before it is delivered, my speech (like the

Queen's) is looked for as eagerly as if nothing of the kind had ever

been heard before. When it is delivered, and turns out not to be the

novelty anticipated, though they grumble a little, they look forward

hopefully to something newer next year. An easy people to govern, in the

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Parliament and in the Kitchen--that's the moral of it. After breakfast,

Mr. Franklin and I had a private conference on the subject of the

Moonstone--the time having now come for removing it from the bank at

Frizinghall, and placing it in Miss Rachel's own hands.

Whether he had been trying to make love to his cousin again, and had got

a rebuff--or whether his broken rest, night after night, was aggravating

the queer contradictions and uncertainties in his character--I don't

know. But certain it is, that Mr. Franklin failed to show himself at his

best on the morning of the birthday. He was in twenty different minds

about the Diamond in as many minutes. For my part, I stuck fast by

the plain facts a we knew them. Nothing had happened to justify us in

alarming my lady on the subject of the jewel; and nothing could alter

the legal obligation that now lay on Mr. Franklin to put it in his

cousin's possession. That was my view of the matter; and, twist and turn

it as he might, he was forced in the end to make it his view too. We

arranged that he was to ride over, after lunch, to Frizinghall, and

bring the Diamond back, with Mr. Godfrey and the two young ladies, in

all probability, to keep him company on the way home again.

This settled, our young gentleman went back to Miss Rachel.

They consumed the whole morning, and part of the afternoon, in the

everlasting business of decorating the door, Penelope standing by to mix

the colours, as directed; and my lady, as luncheon time drew near, going

in and out of the room, with her handkerchief to her nose (for they used

a deal of Mr. Franklin's vehicle that day), and trying vainly to get the

two artists away from their work. It was three o'clock before they

took off their aprons, and released Penelope (much the worse for the

vehicle), and cleaned themselves of their mess. But they had done what

they wanted--they had finished the door on the birthday, and proud

enough they were of it. The griffins, cupids, and so on, were, I must

own, most beautiful to behold; though so many in number, so entangled in

flowers and devices, and so topsy-turvy in their actions and attitudes,

that you felt them unpleasantly in your head for hours after you had

done with the pleasure of looking at them. If I add that Penelope ended

her part of the morning's work by being sick in the back-kitchen, it

is in no unfriendly spirit towards the vehicle. No! no! It left

off stinking when it dried; and if Art requires these sort of

sacrifices--though the girl is my own daughter--I say, let Art have

them!




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