"Oh, how interesting!" said Emily, thrilled. "It must mean something."
"It is rather a joke. Wheels again, Emily. Is that the fishmonger?"
Emily went to the window once more. "Yes," she answered, "if his name is Buggle."
"His name is Buggle," said Lady Maria, "and we are saved."
But five minutes later the cook herself appeared at the morning-room door. She was a stout person, who panted, and respectfully removed beads of perspiration from her brow with a clean handkerchief.
She was as nearly pale as a heated person of her weight may be.
"And what has happened now, cook?" asked Lady Maria.
"That Buggle, your ladyship," said cook, "says your ladyship can't be no sorrier than he is, but when fish goes bad in a night it can't be made fresh in the morning. He brought it that I might see it for myself, and it is in a state as could not be used by any one. I was that upset, your ladyship, that I felt like I must come and explain myself."
"What can be done?" exclaimed Lady Maria. "Emily, do suggest something."
"We can't even be sure," said the cook, "that Batch has what would suit us. Batch sometimes has it, but he is the fishmonger at Maundell, and that is four miles away, and we are short-'anded, your ladyship, now the 'ouse is so full, and not a servant that could be spared."