“What, they won’t show you over the house—­won’t they?” said old Mazey.  “I will, then!  That head house-maid’s a sour one, my dear—­if ever there was a sour one yet.  You’re too young and good-looking to please ’em—­that’s what you are.”  He rose, took off his spectacles, and feebly mended the fire.  “She’s as straight as a poplar,” said old Mazey, considering Magdalen’s figure in drowsy soliloquy.  “I say she’s as straight as a poplar, and his honor the admiral says so too!  Come along, my dear,” he proceeded, addressing himself to Magdalen again.  “I’ll teach you your Pints of the Compass first.  When you know your Pints, blow high, blow low, you’ll find it plain sailing all over the house.”

He led the way to the door—­stopped, and suddenly bethinking himself of his miniature ship, went back to put his model away in an empty cupboard—­led the way to the door again—­stopped once more—­remembered that some of the rooms were chilly—­and pottered about, swearing and grumbling, and looking for his hat.  Magdalen sat down patiently to wait for him.  She gratefully contrasted his treatment of her with the treatment she had received from the women.  Resist it as firmly, despise it as proudly as we may, all studied unkindness—­no matter how contemptible it may be—­has a stinging power in it which reaches to the quick.  Magdalen only knew how she had felt the small malice of the female servants, by the effect which the rough kindness of the old sailor produced on her afterward.  The dumb welcome of the dogs, when the movements in the room had roused them from their sleep, touched her more acutely still.  Brutus pushed his mighty muzzle companionably into her hand; and Cassius laid his friendly fore-paw on her lap.  Her heart yearned over the two creatures as she patted and caressed them.  It seemed only yesterday since she and the dogs at Combe-Raven had roamed the garden together, and had idled away the summer mornings luxuriously on the shady lawn.

Old Mazey found his hat at last, and they started on their exploring expedition, with the dogs after them.

Leaving the basement story of the house, which was entirely devoted to the servants’ offices, they ascended to the first floor, and entered the long corridor, with which Magdalen’s last night’s experience had already made her acquainted.  “Put your back ag’in this wall,” said old Mazey, pointing to the long wall—­pierced at irregular intervals with windows looking out over a courtyard and fish-pond—­which formed the right-hand side of the corridor, as Magdalen now stood.  “Put your back here,” said the veteran, “and look straight afore you.  What do you see?”—­“The opposite wall of the passage,” said Magdalen.—­“Ay! ay! what else?”—­“The doors leading into the rooms.”—­“What else?”—­“I see nothing else.”  Old Mazey chuckled, winked, and shook his knotty forefinger at Magdalen, impressively.  “You see one of the Pints of the Compass, my dear.  When you’ve got your back ag’in this wall, and when you look straight afore you, you look Noathe.  If you ever get lost hereaway, put your back ag’in the wall, look out straight afore you, and say to yourself:  ‘I look Noathe!’ You do that like a good girl, and you won’t lose your bearings.”