CHAPTER XXVIIITowards morning on March 17 Miss Kezia dreamed. She was not often troubled with dreams, but on this occasion her dream was long and peculiarly vivid. She dreamed that she was passing through a narrow roadway, on either side of which great rocks rose high and precipitous. On these rocks men were at work, cutting, chiselling, hammering, and every sound they made rolled and rumbled and echoed amongst the rocks, till, in her dream, Miss Kezia's ears sang and buzzed in agony. As they worked the men sang and talked, and the rocks took up their voices, and flung them from one to another, till the noise was deafening. On she hurried, striving to get through the roadway, but it had the interminableness of dream roads, and Miss Kezia struggled in vain.At seven o'clock she woke, because seven o'clock was the hour at which she invariably rose. On the 17th of March she rose four minutes later than usual, taking that time to ponder her dream and feel her pulse. She looked anxiously at herself in the peculiarly unflattering mirror on the toilet-table, but it showed her the same long Scotch face as usual, and the green tinge imparted by the glass was no greener than it always was. Miss Kezia considered dreams a weakness due to illness or a diseased imagination, but halfway through her toilet a voice broke out:—"'Oh! Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground;Saint Patrick's day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen.For there's a cruel law agin' the wearin' of the green....'"Miss Kezia stood, the cold water trickling down her face, and experienced a queer sort of sensation. Where had she heard that tune—sad even to her tough senses—quite lately? Why did her dream suddenly descend upon her, the sense of it gripping her most unaccountably?A scream of woe in Molly's most material voice, "Oh, I've hammered my thumb into the middle of next month!" and the heavy fall of a hammer roused her suddenly, sharply, to full realisation and understanding of her dream. To the accompaniment of a steady hammering she finished her ablutions with a grim and wrathful haste. She faced the unflattering mirror with a gleam in her eye, and pulled and screwed her hair into its accustomed tight knot. She finished her toilet, and then she left her room.Green met her eye; whichever way she turned she encountered green. The balusters were draped with green muslin. The austere photograph of a long-faced ancestor hanging, a perpetual prim disdainer of the follies of youth, on the wall opposite her door, looked out now disapprovingly from beneath a coquettish green satin bow hanging over his very brows.Sheila Pat came marching down the stairs, holding aloft the Irish flag."Are you all mad?" Miss Kezia queried wrathfully.The Atom turned an eye alight with a far-away scorn upon her."It's St. Patrick's Day!" she said curtly, and marched on down the stairs.Miss Kezia put up with a good deal that day. She sat at the breakfast-table and faced, with strong but silent disapproval, a green-draped window. She said no word even when Sarah wriggled shyly in, her diminutive cap adorned with a great green bow. But her eye followed the hot and abashed little hand-maiden with dire meaning. When next Sarah appeared the bow had vanished.She watched, from beneath raised brows, Kate Kearney tumbling over her own head in pursuit of the ribbon tied about her neck, but she did not say anything. After breakfast a box came by parcel's post addressed to Nell. It was a large box, and it was filled with shamrock. Miss Kezia studied it amiably."I suppose it is a pretty little weed," she said with affability.She went farther. She asked Sheila Pat for information anent St. Patrick.Unfortunately Sheila Pat started with the little item of his having swum across the Shannon with his head in his mouth. Miss Kezia remonstrated. She pointed out the impossibility of his performing such a feat.Sheila Pat waxed indignant. She explained scornfully that anything was possible to St. Patrick, and that, moreover, his being in Ireland at the time had a great deal to do with his wonderful cleverness.Miss Kezia argued that it would have been nothing more or less than a miracle.Sheila Pat retorted, "And why not?" Miss Kezia was shocked. A long and hot discussion followed, of which the Atom had the last word. She said:—"Why, you can't knowany*thing! You don't even know what Ireland's *like! You're just a hignoramus!"Miss Kezia was angry. She was also genuinely worried. It was not the first time that her young relatives by marriage had worried her active conscience from a religious point of view. Their stories of fairies and legends and miracles seemed, to her stern narrowness, profane. In the course of her argument with Sheila Pat, the Atom had observed that she thought it must be very nice for God to have St. Patrick for a companion. The remark had left Miss Kezia gasping.Left alone with the rude epithet of hignoramus hovering scornfully in the air, Miss Kezia sought to arrange the chaos in her mind. She was still forming sound arguments to be used with effect on a future occasion, when she heard the O'Briens going out. She went to the window and received several further shocks. In the first place Denis was with the others, when he should have been at the bank. In the second, third, and fourth places, their costumes were most unseemly. To Miss Kezia they appeared to be composed chiefly of shamrock and green ribbon. In the fifth place Kate Kearney, all unchidden, was dividing her energies in a vain attempt to rid herself of her bow, between the mud heap at the side of the road and Miss Kezia's spotless door-steps.Miss Kezia flung open the window, and called out:—"Ridiculous! I won't have it! Denis, why aren't you at the bank? My steps!"Denis waved an airy farewell with his shillelagh."Bank?" His voice was amazed. "It's a holiday, of course! Told them I shouldn't be there!""You are not to—"Miss Kezia's voice died away. She recognised the uselessness of calling injunctions after fast-disappearing and obviously obstinate backs.She returned to her dusting. Her amiability had been sorely tried; it was little more than a memory now. She approached the window to dust a chair, and became aware of the fact that her house was an object of interest and mirth to passers-by. She sighed angrily. She had a genuine wish to make allowances. She understood dimly that the day meant a great deal to them. She could not discover from the windows the cause of the interest her house seemed to possess for the passers-by. She donned her bonnet and coat and went out. From the pavement she discovered only too quickly the cause of that interest and mirth. Her respectable house wore a festive, even a rakish, air. The dingy bricks seemed to shrink back apologetically beneath their gay adornments. Green—green—green—Miss Kezia took a violent dislike to the colour that day which never left her. The Irish flag held a prominent position; green bunting was festooned across from window to window; a basket of shamrock was slung by green ribbons from a water-pipe; there were garlands and harps. From one window there hung a long, limp object, professedly a dead serpent. Miss Kezia's eyesight was good; it was better than her imagination. She saw at once that a thing composed of some rolled-up strips of carpet that were her property hung from a window. But she did not see that the thing was a serpent. The realistic touches given by Nell's brush were, to her, merely so many insults added to the injury.The O'Briens did not come home to lunch. Miss Kezia lunched alone. She also said to Sarah, "You are not to keep anything hot, Sarah!"Sarah dragged the beef from the oven in such a temper that it fell into the fender.Soon after lunch Miss Kezia went out. She glanced from the gate with approval at the decorous, unadorned bricks of her house. When she returned a few hours later, she glanced again at it approvingly. But as she put her key into the lock of the door, the more amiable expression of her countenance faded, and a look of disapproving horror took its place. She entered the hall and was greeted with several disconcerting things. Her ears were offended by the loud singing of many voices, accompanied by a concertina and combs. Her nose was offended with the unmistakable scent of tobacco. Her eyes—well, her eyes were offended with the smoke and with many signs of untidiness, of riot, and of fun.Miss Kezia went upstairs. As she reached the door of the Stronghold the voices and music were in full swing:—"'You may take the Shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,But, never fear, 'twill take root there, tho' under foot 'tis trod.When laws can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,And when the leaves in summer time their verdure dare not show,Then I will change the colour I wear in my caubeen;But till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' of the green.'"Miss Kezia stood, unseen, unheard, within the door of the Stronghold, and gazed.Round the table sat several men, women, and children. On the table were the remains of a feast. Miss Kezia caught sight of a beef bone and gasped; she saw poultry bones, remains of pies, tarts, and cakes. The windows were flung wide, but the atmosphere of the room, thick with smoke, offended her nostrils.A pair of bare little legs gave a sudden spasmodic leap to a sheltering lap, and a shrill little voice exclaimed:—"Lady!"There was a sudden lull. Denis turned to his aunt."Hulloa, Aunt Kezia! These are a few friends we came across to-day.""In—deed!" said Miss Kezia.An old woman was heard to exclaim with deep sentiment:"Sure 'tis his honour's a rale gintleman entirely!"Miss Kezia, looking back afterwards, on the minutes that followed, marvelled angrily at her strange and quite unsuitable behaviour. She concluded, and rightly, that she was dazed with bewilderment at the welcome she received. To her cold and austere nature it was inexplicable. She found herself surrounded, called by terms of endearment, her hands held and shaken, compliments paid to herself and her nation. One old woman, half weeping over the joy that had been hers that day, actually kissed her hand. She was not a particularly clean old woman, and Miss Kezia wished that she wouldn't do it. But she did not draw her hand roughly away. "Ten years," wailed the old woman, "have I stood the whole day through beside me barrow, and me not able to put me foot to the ground with the rheumatics!"Miss Kezia felt a passing inclination to point out that the two facts were not compatible. Oh, these people were awful! And one had a monkey, a horrible little monkey, sitting on his shoulder! And they were dirty!"Sure 'tis herself's the kind lady, givin' the poor Irish immigrants the welcome!"Welcome!Miss Kezia began to beat an ignominious retreat. She had to confess herself unequal to the occasion. Her inclination set strongly toward turning these undesirable guests from her house. But their gratitude was so exuberant; they were so sure of her welcome, so childishly hilarious."'Tis herself's giving us the grand time entirely!""Won't ye be sittin' down wid us, me dear?" The old woman who had kissed her hand dragged a chair forward invitingly."'Tisn't much we've left ye," she pursued, "but ye'll be havin' a piece of cheese now?"Miss Kezia heard, amazedly, her own voice making excuses, as she edged back into the doorway. A grimy little hand was thrust up in front of her; a beguiling little voice suggestively besought God to bless her.Miss Kezia looked down into a smutty imp's face with eyes as blue and innocent as Heaven."God bless ye, lady! God bless ye, lady!"Slowly Miss Kezia opened her purse, slowly she took from it a halfpenny, and dropped it into the little hand."God send ye a good husband, lady!" rang out jubilantly. "God guard every shtep of your way!"Miss Kezia found herself surrounded suddenly by bare legs, blue eyes, outstretched hands, entreating voices."God bless ye, lady! God bless ye, lady!"There were five halfpennies and two farthings in her purse. She dispensed them automatically."God send ye a good husband! God send ye a good husband!"Even the smallest imp, a scrap of a thing, about a foot and a half high, shrilly called on Heaven to provide her with a suitable partner.Miss Kezia looked uncomfortable. She shut her purse with a snap and retreated on to the landing. But they followed her, all talking at once. Her hands were taken again. Disconcerting questions as to her family, her parents, were asked. The old woman who had stood beside her barrow for ten years without once putting her foot to the ground broke out wailingly into an account of her trials, her sorrows, and pains. A black-bearded man gave her a picturesque presentment of his life as a father of eight children. His was the shoulder on which the objectionable monkey sat. He came close, emphasising, with dramatic gestures, his story. The monkey stretched out a thin little arm towards Miss Kezia's bonnet. Miss Kezia backed precipitately. Why did her bonnet possess a fascination for monkeys, she wondered shudderingly. She hated monkeys."Sure, thin, isn't he welcoming one of his own people?" the man with the black beard observed.Miss Kezia thought the remark impertinent, and concluded that it was intended to be funny. It wasn't.It gave her disapproval the necessary fillip, and she managed to beat a retreat. Once in her bedroom, she shut the door, and, with a hurried air not usual to her, turned the key in the lock.Miss Kezia possessed an uncompromising conscience. She never allowed it to veil or excuse her motives. Yet, as she stood untying the strings of the bonnet that possessed such a weird attraction for the monkey tribe, she said to herself that she really must turn out and tidy a certain drawer at once. To an outsider the drawer would have seemed tidy enough, but Miss Kezia, sitting before it, the door still locked, methodically sorted out and refolded every article it contained. As she was refolding, for the third time, a certain scarf that was the last article to be tidied, the noise that had been surging, high and low, exuberant and sad, in her ears, as a never ceasing accompaniment to her tidying, suddenly swelled into sharper sounds, and she understood that the door of the Stronghold had been opened. She sat, rigid, a queer dread on her face. The dread gave place presently to absolute astonishment at the noise they managed to make. The rapid talk, the laughter, the jokes, bewildered her. The great affection that evidently existed between them and her young relatives surprised her."Old tenants," she surmised. "How very fond they are of their landlord's children!"She experienced a distinct feeling of gratitude towards the Albert Hall, and the Irish concert that was to be held there that evening, and for which her relatives had taken tickets.For a quarter of an hour by Miss Kezia's watch, the "tenants" bade their landlord's children good-bye. Three times the door was shut, three times there came bangs and thumps on it, and it was re-opened. And each time all the noise and talk began again.Later on Miss Kezia ventured forth. On meeting the O'Briens, she observed with forbearance that she trusted they would make things tidy now that their father's tenants had gone. She went on to remark that it was strange so many of them should be in London. They were a good deal amused. They pointed out airily that they were no tenants of their father's; that they had never seen them till that day; that they had just come across them. It was the last shock poor Miss Kezia received on that 17th of March. She was very angry, and very genuinely bewildered. She watched them go off to their concert with a sense of relief. She felt a newly developed fondness for the Albert Hall.CHAPTER XXIXThe day after St. Patrick's day was a bad one for them. It was a beautiful day, bright and cold; but, in the reactionary mood that had gripped them all in a great gloom, the very brightness was a thing to rail at.At the breakfast-table Miss Kezia gazed at them astonished. She was not a keen observer, but even she, with the memory of yesterday in her mind, marvelled at the sudden depression.Denis, in the hall, observed gloomily:—"Wish I'd get run over, or save a millionnaire's life. Either'd make a break.""Millionnaires only get their lives saved in books," Nell rejoined bitterly.He kicked the hat-stand angrily."Look here, Nell, I can't go to that beastly bank to-day. I'm sick of it! I'll be committing suicide, or murder, or something, if I do!"A quick little sob caught suddenly at her throat."Oh, Denis!" she whispered. "Oh, Denis!"He smoothed out a dent he had made in his hat. He looked up at her, a humorous smile twisting his mouth."Anyhow, I'll be a success as an author soon," he said. "Didn't I say all this beastly bank business was copy? Well, my books'll be pretty morbid and sordid, won't they?"She felt blindly for his coat; it danced before her eyes in a mist. He began to laugh."I say, old fumble-fist, wouldn't old Pom-Pom be rich while I was murdering him? I can see him—'Excuse me, Mr. O'Brien, but you really are going to work in an unnecessarily rough manner.'" He dived an arm into the coat she held out for him. "Nell—think I shall ever want to bring in a realistic murder into a book? If so, now's the time to get it.""You're late. Don't dawdle.""Bet I'd get to the corner before you even if I gave you the steps in!""Not you!"She flung open the door, jumped the long flight of steps, and vanished. She came back laughing, flushed, and vanquished, into the disapproving arms of Miss Kezia.She listened to the lecture that followed in a passion of dreary revolt. When it was finished she observed tragically, "Next time I'll put on aveil!"She went upstairs to Molly and French translation. She set Sheila Pat a sum to work out. Sheila Pat sat and gazed awhile at the figures, then she slid down from her chair."I won't do it, Nell!" she said.She stood, a small figure at bay; a little quiver passed through her."Very well, asthore," Nell said gently.The Atom went to the window and looked out. She came back to the table."Give me something to do, please, Nell."Molly began, "Why, you just said—""I'm not sayin' it now, Molly O'Brien!""Duckie," Nell said, "will you write me a letter? I just feel I'd like a letter."Sheila Pat got paper and ink and began:—"My dear Nell—"She wrote for a few minutes, then she said:—."May I say I've no time to write any more now, Nell? I don't want to write any more."She went down into the garden and quarrelled violently with Stewart over the rival merits of St. George and St. Patrick. In the very heart of the argument she slipped and grazed her nose on the wall. But she retrieved her position without loss of time or dignity, and went on with the argument.Nell met her later wandering aimlessly up and down the stairs, in and out the rooms."Please don't touch me!" she said strenuously as Nell advanced, and she ran away down to the kitchen. At luncheon she hardly ate anything; she fidgeted, was rude to Miss Kezia.Afterward she refused to go for a walk with the others. She said with forlorn dignity:—"I am tired of walkin' between houses that squeeze you to death, thank you."To omnibuses she made much the same objection. Nell, in pity, left her alone.Later on Nell went out to buy a tube of rose-madder. She was painting desperately, in a sudden wild accession of determination to get back to Kilbrannan somehow. When she came back she found Molly deep in a book in the Stronghold."Where's the Atom?""Somewhere about."Nell searched."She isn't.""Oh, she's gone, then. I didn't know she'd gone yet. The maid came from next door to ask her to go to tea with Stewart.""I'm glad."A little before six Miss Kezia came into the Stronghold. Denis whisked Jim behind him, and faced her serenely."Molly, I wish to know if it is to you I am indebted for—these?"She held out a pair of large, flat, square-toed shoes, and pointed majestically to two frivolous-looking little bows on their toes.Molly grew scarlet."Y-yes, Aunt Kezia! I—I—""I thought so. I should like to knowwhymy property is never to be safe from you?""I—I saw—I saw therehadbeen bows—and I—I made fresh ones—""Yes. I picked the bows off myself. I object to them." She stared at Molly with a puzzled frown. "You are a very peculiar girl," she said, and left the room."I tookhourssewing them on!" wailed the discomfited Molly to an unsympathetic and much-amused audience."I believe our dear aunt thinks you're a bit wanting," declared Denis, tapping his brow.Miss Kezia put her head round the door again"Where is Sheila?""She hasn't come back yet.""Come back? From where?""Next door," said Nell."What has she gone there for? I object to her running in and out.""She went to tea.""No. I have come from there only half an hour ago.""Are yousure?" Nell looked bewildered."Stewart had tea with us. She was not there."Nell looked at Molly; her eyes had widened suddenly,"Molly!"—her voice was quite sharp—"you said she had gone—""I thought she had. A maid came and asked her—"Denis bounded down the stairs."Sarah!""Yes, sir!""Do you know anything about a maid coming from next door to ask Miss Sheila to go to tea?""Yes, sir, but she said, 'No, thank you, she didn't wish to go.'""Have you seen her go out, Sarah?""No, sir. She's never out, and it pouring and that bitter cold and windy!"In another minute he had on his coat, and had gone off to the milkman's to see if she were there. The others waited. Molly tried guiltily to comfort Nell, and to excuse herself."Oh, do be quiet!" Nell interrupted her. "Can't you at least do that?"Denis returned with no news of her."She may have gone to Mr. Yovil's or to Sarah's home—""Or Ted Lancaster's—Denis," Nell's voice was desperate, "she's been gone nearly three hours! I can't stay here. I'll go to Sarah's, while you go—""You will not! You cannot go out alone! It is dark and raining," Miss Kezia interrupted.Nell gave a queer little laugh."I'm going," she said."Nell," Denis interposed, "I'll get you a cab. You go to Mr. Yovil's—I'll go off to Lancaster's. Sarah will go home." His tone was quietly authoritative.Miss Kezia found herself put aside and everyone obeying him implicitly. In reality she was very uneasy and anxious herself, but she hid it beneath a cold and disapproving manner.Nell returned a few minutes after he did. She shook her head."He was out. She hasn't been there.""There's Sarah yet. She isn't back.""Must we wait, Denis?""No. I'm off to the police station. If she should bring her back, I can go and cancel orders."His hand was on the door latch. "Here's Sarah!" he said.Sarah hurried in, wet, breathless."No, missansir—oh, and them crool moters—and she such a baby for all her grown ways!"The wind and the rain beat in angrily. Denis closed the door, and turned to speak to Nell. Something drove up and stopped outside. He flung open the door. In the light of the lamp they could discern a small figure standing by a horse's head. The horse was in a four-wheeled cab, the driver was getting down from his box. The next instant Sheila Pat was met at the gate and marshalled up the steps. Into the hall she came, a small, weary figure, drenched through, her face shining white in the lamplight.They closed round her; Nell's arms squeezed her desperately; there was a babel of questions, reprimands, relief."What a rikkledous fuss!" were the first words the Atom spoke, and a strong odor of peppermint began to pervade the hall."Where have you been?" demanded Miss Kezia for the third time."Out," laconically.Nell cried: "Oh, Sheila Pat, you're soaked through! Come and get dry things on!""Directly her clothes have been changed I wish to hear an account of what she has been doing," said Miss Kezia.Denis picked her up into his arms and held her tight. "You're eating peppermint, you vulgar little ragamuffin!""He gave it me—he says it keeps out the cold wonderful. He used to take to drink to keep himself warm, but ever since his little baby was borned, a year ago, he sucks peppermint instead!" The excited little voice vanished up the stairs."With whom have you been consorting, Sheila?" Miss Kezia's dire tones followed her."I haven't been con—con—doin' that at all!" was the indignant response.Denis translated into the wet ear nearest to him:—"Who was 'he,' duckums?""Mr. Willie Riley," in a dignified voice. "And I shared his tea!" triumphantly."Hurry up, Denis!" Nell's face was worried, anxious. "I've her dry things all ready. But I think she ought to go to bed—""I won't! Sure, Nell O'Brien, I'm not a baby to go to bed at seven o'clock!"Nell, rubbing her down, found she was shivering and trembling all through her slim little body. She huddled her into warm, dry clothes, rubbed her toes, hugged her."Asthore, asthore, you've given us all such a bad time!""But, Nell, I'm really not a baby! I don't see why you make such a fuss.""You're absurd, Atom! We didn't know what might be happening to you. We don't know now what was happening. Youmusttell us—""I went out, and—and I got lost, Nell.""But where did you go? And why?""Oh, we were all so frightened!" interposed Molly. "And I felt so awful, because I told Nell you were next door. I never dreamed you'd said you wouldn't go, and I heard the maid say it to Sarah, and oh, Sarah cried and said motor cars killed all the children, and I do think you're awfully naughty—" She stopped, out of breath."So do I." Nell's arms were round her again; she gave her a little shake. "I'm dreadfully angry with you, sweet, and you shall have some nice hot bread and milk presently.""I don't want it, Nell! I shared Mr. Riley's tea.""Tell me why you went out, Atom," she coaxed.The little body stiffened."A person doesn't—always—want to—to tell things," she said, a note of desperation in her voice. "I'll tell you all about Mr. Riley," eagerly.Denis came in. "I say, Aunt Kezia's waiting. Come and confess, Atom!""I won't.""You've got to be a man. Come along."He had touched the right note. Downstairs marched the Atom and into the dining room. Not pale was she now. Two vivid spots of colour glowed in her cheeks; her eyes shone. She sat her down on a chair and began:—"I wished to go out all by my alone, so I put on my things and I creeped down the stairs and out of the door—""Most wrong! Most naughty!" interpolated Miss Kezia, but the Atom went on unheeding."Sure I'll not be tellin' you anythin' I don't wish to, so it's no use askin' undesirable questions about—" a halt, a momentary quaver, "about things. This London is just houses and houses and houses and streets like—" pause for an insulting metaphor, "like twin maggots! And I got lost." She stopped abruptly."It is very naughty and selfish to cause so much trouble to others while you enjoy yourself roaming the streets!" said Miss Kezia.A curious expression came into the Atom's small face—a bitter little expression that made it look oddly old for a moment."Go on, asthore," Nell put in. "What did you do when you were lost?""I walked and walked. I wouldn't ask a policeman the way, because Sarah's young man says they're a bad lot and you can't trust them. And then," her face kindled, "I came upon a cab-stand, and there was one poor horse with his nose-bag slipped down,—the strap had come loose, and he couldn't get his poor nose in at all,—and I ran across and I kissed his nose—it had a white flame—he was a bay with a hog mane—and I tried to get his bag up, but, oh, 'tis heavy they are! I tried and tried, and I gave him a handful of oats to go on with, and then Willie Riley came along—" She broke off. "Oh, Nell," she said, in a breathless little aside, "all day long I'd been hearing all these hidjous London people's voices, all shoutin'—and Willie Riley came along, and oh, he called out, 'Sure and what's wrong at all?' Oh, but 'twas grand! All day I hadn't heard it. 'Sure and what's wrong at all?' just like that.""The horse might have bitten you. It was a most foolish and foolhardy thing to do," reprimanded Miss Kezia.Sheila Pat stared at her in a funny little considering way, then pursued:—"He soon put it right, and then we had a talk. Nell, he comes from Cork! And he was tellin' me all about his home—""Get on with whatyoudid!" put in Miss Kezia."I'm tellin' you," obstinately, "I talked with him. And then he drove me here." With a sudden abrupt movement she slipped from the chair. "I'll go to bed now."There were great dark rings round her eyes; Nell saw her shiver."Come on, then, Atom," Denis picked her up again. "I'll carry you up."The small arms went with sudden desperate clinging round his neck; Sheila Pat pressed her cheek hard into his."She must be punished," said Miss Kezia. "She has been wandering about alone for more than three hours.""We'll see about that to-morrow," Denis said.Nell went towards the kitchen."Where are you going, Eileen?""To make her some hot bread and milk.""It is perfectly absurd the way you none seem to think she should be punished—""I shall make her promise never to go out alone again.""She shared that cabman's tea," grimly; "that is sufficient. I will not have her coddled and fussed over as if she has done something clever.""She must have the bread and milk. She is tired and shivering." Nell's eyes looked dark, her head was back. For a moment Miss Kezia hesitated whether she should enforce her words. She glanced keenly at Nell's face."If it is to stave off a cold, I will say no more," she said, and turned away.When Nell took the bread and milk up, she found Sheila Pat on Denis's knee, flushed, heavy-eyed, half asleep."I don't want it, Nell! Make her take it away, Denis!" Her tone was peevish."Not I. I want you to eat it. Come, try, old girl."But the Atom turned her head away, and buried it deeper in his chest."I don't want it! I don't want it!""But you've got to try and eat it, Sheila Pat! Come, don't be a baby."She sat up listlessly."I'll feed you. We'll pretend you are a baby, shall we?"Halfway through it her heavy lids drooped, her weary little head fell back against his shoulder. Nell took the basin away."I'll get her to bed as quickly as I can," she whispered."Molly, run and fetch her nightie—to warm."But the Atom clung wearily to Denis."I don't want to go to bed. Denis, need I go to bed?""Must, old lady.""May I go in my clothes, then? I don't want to get undressed.""You'll be so much more cosey, dear," coaxed Nell. "It won't take a minute."Denis put her down. She stood gazing into the fire, her sleepy eyes closing now and then."Oh, Nell—why does a person have such a lot of clothes?" as her arms were dragged out of various garments."Oh—leave my chimmy on—""Need I have my stockin's off?"In her blue flannel nightgown she knelt in front of a chair and said her prayers. She roused over them."I've got a new bit to-night," she said, and gave a curious little shudder. "I'm goin' to pray it to Jesus as well as God."When she had finished Nell carried her into their bedroom, wrapped in a warmed blanket."Good night, Nell." Sheila Pat's arms clung tight.Three times Nell peeped in that evening, and found her tossing restlessly, wide-eyed.When she came to bed, Sheila Pat was still awake. She sat up."Nell, I've been very inceitful!""You're going to tell me why you went out?""Yes."Nell sat down on the bed and took her, blankets and all, into her lap."Now, sweetheart."But the Atom was silent. She wriggled restlessly."I feel—oh, someone's playin' tunes in my head, Nell! I—won't I ever be sleepy again? My legs hurt, Nell. Is it all those steps?""What steps, dear?""The monnyment. Are youverys'prised? I went up the monnyment—to—Nell, do you think I've got a cold comin'? My nose feels funny.""I'm afraid you have. Go on, pet.""The boy told me—I asked him—he had blue eyes and red cheeks and—and I thought he might be nice like an Irish boy, and—and—I—I felt," with sudden passion, "I would justdieif I didn't see it—just one tiny bit! And he said I could—from the top of the monnyment—he said, 'Oh, yes, you can see Ireland right enough from there, you can see all the world,' but—I—couldn't—"Nell's arms tightened about her."He was a wicked boy! He told a lie. I mustn't say 'lie,' but I will. I could only see—dirty—smoke—and houses—""How did you find your way there?""I don't know. It was very differcult, and I kept goin' wrong, but I asked people. And one woman gave me an apple off her barrow. It was very kind of her. But there was only smoke and houses—"A sudden convulsive sob shook her from head to foot."I—Iranup a lot of the steps—" her fingers dug into Nell's arm—"and it was three pennies—and the man told me there are three hundred and forty-five steps—it was a long way—and," a little terrified shudder shook her, "there's a nasty cage—he said it's because people used to throw theirselves over to—because they wanted to kill theirselves, Nell! I—I didn't know people ever wanted to kill theirselves, did you?"The shrinking terror in her eyes hurt Nell horribly."Don't, Atom—don't! Dear, it's only poor people who—who are mad—who don't know what they are doing. If they knew, they wouldn't do it."The terror lightened a little. She lay quiet a little while in Nell's arms.Nell hoped she was falling asleep, but presently the whole small form was shaken by another desperate sob."It was only smoke—-and houses—" came a desolate little murmur of utter weariness."Try to go to sleep, darling—do try.""I'm not cryin', Nell! Only—I—you see shiverin' and a cold is rather like cryin', isn't it?""Very much, but you'll be better to-morrow. You must get better quickly, because suppose our first letters from Australia were to come with you sick! And they may come any day now, sweet. And there mustn't be anyone sick here! Because how can we celebrate the occasion properly then? If the letters say that mother is quite,quitestrong again—and they will, darling, I know they will!—well, what shall we do then?"She talked on softly, gently, and after a while the Atom slept. Nell sat for some time with her on her lap, frightened to move lest she wake her, but at last she laid her gently in her bed, and the Atom still slept on.But the next morning Nell was wakened suddenly at six o'clock. She sat up. The Atom was striving to pour some water from the bottle to the glass, and it was the two clinking together that had waked Nell. The bottle shook in the Atom's hands; Nell saw that she was shaking all over.She slipped to the floor."Go back to bed, asthore, I'll give you some water.""I—I'm so th-thirsty, Nell, and I c-can't keep still—I'm r-rather like Mrs. J-Jelly!" with a shivery little smile."You're frozen. Now, drink it quickly, and let me tuck you in again.""I'd sooner get up, Nell.""Not yet, Sheila Pat.""My bed's so c-cold, Nell. I don't like my bed.""Come into mine, dear."She snuggled into Nell, shivering and shaking."Will I make you very cold?""Oh, no, asthore. Now go to sleep."After a while Nell dozed. She woke suddenly to find Sheila Pat lying beside her with all the bedclothes off."I'm so hot, Nell! I just burn—I b'lieve I'll scorch soon.""You've caught a bad cold, Sheila Pat. You'll have to stay in bed.""I won't! I want to go out and get cool. I'll go and have my cold bath now."But very soon she was shivering again.Miss Kezia sent for Dr. Everton. Sheila Pat was pronounced an invalid, the fire was lit, and the restless little Atom condemned to bed.Dr. Everton looked grave; he murmured the dread words—rheumatic fever—but hoped it might be merely a heavy, influenza cold. He told them to be very careful.It seemed a long, long day. Sheila Pat, realising she was to be an invalid, used all her sturdy powers to be a brave one. She was very hot and feverish; her poor little head ached, and she ached all over her body."Nell," she said once, "I can't be very little, after all, because there's such a heap of room for the aches! I feel most as big as the giant Mahon MacMahon. Nell, I wonder if he ever caught cold?"But there was something that worried the Atom and tormented her far more than the worst of the aches did, and that was a bewildering, disconcerting longing to cry that had assailed her. Over and over again the tears got as far as her eyes, and had to be hidden away in the pillow. Once one ran down her cheek, and they caught her breath in her throat and made it ache with a worse ache than that in her legs. She lay tossing and turning, her brilliant eyes full of a desperation that hurt the others to see. Every other minute she was sitting up, her pig-tail sticking out, breathing hard."Mayn't I get up, just for aminute? May I just put my legs over the edge, then? Nell, I—I'm just tired of bein' in bed!" The poor little voice shook despairingly."Atom,darling!""I will be good, Nell." Down she lay again. "Am I a very tiresome invalid?""You're a jewel, sweetheart, only you must try to lie quiet.""Yes, Nell."Pause."When will Denis come, Nell?""Directly he gets home from the bank.""Will it beverylong now?""No, dear, not very.""How long, Nell?""An hour and a half," unwillingly.Sheila Pat hid weak tears in the pillow.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Towards morning on March 17 Miss Kezia dreamed. She was not often troubled with dreams, but on this occasion her dream was long and peculiarly vivid. She dreamed that she was passing through a narrow roadway, on either side of which great rocks rose high and precipitous. On these rocks men were at work, cutting, chiselling, hammering, and every sound they made rolled and rumbled and echoed amongst the rocks, till, in her dream, Miss Kezia's ears sang and buzzed in agony. As they worked the men sang and talked, and the rocks took up their voices, and flung them from one to another, till the noise was deafening. On she hurried, striving to get through the roadway, but it had the interminableness of dream roads, and Miss Kezia struggled in vain.
At seven o'clock she woke, because seven o'clock was the hour at which she invariably rose. On the 17th of March she rose four minutes later than usual, taking that time to ponder her dream and feel her pulse. She looked anxiously at herself in the peculiarly unflattering mirror on the toilet-table, but it showed her the same long Scotch face as usual, and the green tinge imparted by the glass was no greener than it always was. Miss Kezia considered dreams a weakness due to illness or a diseased imagination, but halfway through her toilet a voice broke out:—
"'Oh! Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground;Saint Patrick's day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen.For there's a cruel law agin' the wearin' of the green....'"
"'Oh! Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground;Saint Patrick's day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen.For there's a cruel law agin' the wearin' of the green....'"
"'Oh! Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?
The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground;
Saint Patrick's day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen.
For there's a cruel law agin' the wearin' of the green....'"
Miss Kezia stood, the cold water trickling down her face, and experienced a queer sort of sensation. Where had she heard that tune—sad even to her tough senses—quite lately? Why did her dream suddenly descend upon her, the sense of it gripping her most unaccountably?
A scream of woe in Molly's most material voice, "Oh, I've hammered my thumb into the middle of next month!" and the heavy fall of a hammer roused her suddenly, sharply, to full realisation and understanding of her dream. To the accompaniment of a steady hammering she finished her ablutions with a grim and wrathful haste. She faced the unflattering mirror with a gleam in her eye, and pulled and screwed her hair into its accustomed tight knot. She finished her toilet, and then she left her room.
Green met her eye; whichever way she turned she encountered green. The balusters were draped with green muslin. The austere photograph of a long-faced ancestor hanging, a perpetual prim disdainer of the follies of youth, on the wall opposite her door, looked out now disapprovingly from beneath a coquettish green satin bow hanging over his very brows.
Sheila Pat came marching down the stairs, holding aloft the Irish flag.
"Are you all mad?" Miss Kezia queried wrathfully.
The Atom turned an eye alight with a far-away scorn upon her.
"It's St. Patrick's Day!" she said curtly, and marched on down the stairs.
Miss Kezia put up with a good deal that day. She sat at the breakfast-table and faced, with strong but silent disapproval, a green-draped window. She said no word even when Sarah wriggled shyly in, her diminutive cap adorned with a great green bow. But her eye followed the hot and abashed little hand-maiden with dire meaning. When next Sarah appeared the bow had vanished.
She watched, from beneath raised brows, Kate Kearney tumbling over her own head in pursuit of the ribbon tied about her neck, but she did not say anything. After breakfast a box came by parcel's post addressed to Nell. It was a large box, and it was filled with shamrock. Miss Kezia studied it amiably.
"I suppose it is a pretty little weed," she said with affability.
She went farther. She asked Sheila Pat for information anent St. Patrick.
Unfortunately Sheila Pat started with the little item of his having swum across the Shannon with his head in his mouth. Miss Kezia remonstrated. She pointed out the impossibility of his performing such a feat.
Sheila Pat waxed indignant. She explained scornfully that anything was possible to St. Patrick, and that, moreover, his being in Ireland at the time had a great deal to do with his wonderful cleverness.
Miss Kezia argued that it would have been nothing more or less than a miracle.
Sheila Pat retorted, "And why not?" Miss Kezia was shocked. A long and hot discussion followed, of which the Atom had the last word. She said:—
"Why, you can't knowany*thing! You don't even know what Ireland's *like! You're just a hignoramus!"
Miss Kezia was angry. She was also genuinely worried. It was not the first time that her young relatives by marriage had worried her active conscience from a religious point of view. Their stories of fairies and legends and miracles seemed, to her stern narrowness, profane. In the course of her argument with Sheila Pat, the Atom had observed that she thought it must be very nice for God to have St. Patrick for a companion. The remark had left Miss Kezia gasping.
Left alone with the rude epithet of hignoramus hovering scornfully in the air, Miss Kezia sought to arrange the chaos in her mind. She was still forming sound arguments to be used with effect on a future occasion, when she heard the O'Briens going out. She went to the window and received several further shocks. In the first place Denis was with the others, when he should have been at the bank. In the second, third, and fourth places, their costumes were most unseemly. To Miss Kezia they appeared to be composed chiefly of shamrock and green ribbon. In the fifth place Kate Kearney, all unchidden, was dividing her energies in a vain attempt to rid herself of her bow, between the mud heap at the side of the road and Miss Kezia's spotless door-steps.
Miss Kezia flung open the window, and called out:—
"Ridiculous! I won't have it! Denis, why aren't you at the bank? My steps!"
Denis waved an airy farewell with his shillelagh.
"Bank?" His voice was amazed. "It's a holiday, of course! Told them I shouldn't be there!"
"You are not to—"
Miss Kezia's voice died away. She recognised the uselessness of calling injunctions after fast-disappearing and obviously obstinate backs.
She returned to her dusting. Her amiability had been sorely tried; it was little more than a memory now. She approached the window to dust a chair, and became aware of the fact that her house was an object of interest and mirth to passers-by. She sighed angrily. She had a genuine wish to make allowances. She understood dimly that the day meant a great deal to them. She could not discover from the windows the cause of the interest her house seemed to possess for the passers-by. She donned her bonnet and coat and went out. From the pavement she discovered only too quickly the cause of that interest and mirth. Her respectable house wore a festive, even a rakish, air. The dingy bricks seemed to shrink back apologetically beneath their gay adornments. Green—green—green—Miss Kezia took a violent dislike to the colour that day which never left her. The Irish flag held a prominent position; green bunting was festooned across from window to window; a basket of shamrock was slung by green ribbons from a water-pipe; there were garlands and harps. From one window there hung a long, limp object, professedly a dead serpent. Miss Kezia's eyesight was good; it was better than her imagination. She saw at once that a thing composed of some rolled-up strips of carpet that were her property hung from a window. But she did not see that the thing was a serpent. The realistic touches given by Nell's brush were, to her, merely so many insults added to the injury.
The O'Briens did not come home to lunch. Miss Kezia lunched alone. She also said to Sarah, "You are not to keep anything hot, Sarah!"
Sarah dragged the beef from the oven in such a temper that it fell into the fender.
Soon after lunch Miss Kezia went out. She glanced from the gate with approval at the decorous, unadorned bricks of her house. When she returned a few hours later, she glanced again at it approvingly. But as she put her key into the lock of the door, the more amiable expression of her countenance faded, and a look of disapproving horror took its place. She entered the hall and was greeted with several disconcerting things. Her ears were offended by the loud singing of many voices, accompanied by a concertina and combs. Her nose was offended with the unmistakable scent of tobacco. Her eyes—well, her eyes were offended with the smoke and with many signs of untidiness, of riot, and of fun.
Miss Kezia went upstairs. As she reached the door of the Stronghold the voices and music were in full swing:—
"'You may take the Shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,But, never fear, 'twill take root there, tho' under foot 'tis trod.When laws can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,And when the leaves in summer time their verdure dare not show,Then I will change the colour I wear in my caubeen;But till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' of the green.'"
"'You may take the Shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,But, never fear, 'twill take root there, tho' under foot 'tis trod.When laws can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,And when the leaves in summer time their verdure dare not show,Then I will change the colour I wear in my caubeen;But till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' of the green.'"
"'You may take the Shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,
But, never fear, 'twill take root there, tho' under foot 'tis trod.
When laws can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,
And when the leaves in summer time their verdure dare not show,
Then I will change the colour I wear in my caubeen;
But till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearin' of the green.'"
Miss Kezia stood, unseen, unheard, within the door of the Stronghold, and gazed.
Round the table sat several men, women, and children. On the table were the remains of a feast. Miss Kezia caught sight of a beef bone and gasped; she saw poultry bones, remains of pies, tarts, and cakes. The windows were flung wide, but the atmosphere of the room, thick with smoke, offended her nostrils.
A pair of bare little legs gave a sudden spasmodic leap to a sheltering lap, and a shrill little voice exclaimed:—
"Lady!"
There was a sudden lull. Denis turned to his aunt.
"Hulloa, Aunt Kezia! These are a few friends we came across to-day."
"In—deed!" said Miss Kezia.
An old woman was heard to exclaim with deep sentiment:
"Sure 'tis his honour's a rale gintleman entirely!"
Miss Kezia, looking back afterwards, on the minutes that followed, marvelled angrily at her strange and quite unsuitable behaviour. She concluded, and rightly, that she was dazed with bewilderment at the welcome she received. To her cold and austere nature it was inexplicable. She found herself surrounded, called by terms of endearment, her hands held and shaken, compliments paid to herself and her nation. One old woman, half weeping over the joy that had been hers that day, actually kissed her hand. She was not a particularly clean old woman, and Miss Kezia wished that she wouldn't do it. But she did not draw her hand roughly away. "Ten years," wailed the old woman, "have I stood the whole day through beside me barrow, and me not able to put me foot to the ground with the rheumatics!"
Miss Kezia felt a passing inclination to point out that the two facts were not compatible. Oh, these people were awful! And one had a monkey, a horrible little monkey, sitting on his shoulder! And they were dirty!
"Sure 'tis herself's the kind lady, givin' the poor Irish immigrants the welcome!"
Welcome!
Miss Kezia began to beat an ignominious retreat. She had to confess herself unequal to the occasion. Her inclination set strongly toward turning these undesirable guests from her house. But their gratitude was so exuberant; they were so sure of her welcome, so childishly hilarious.
"'Tis herself's giving us the grand time entirely!"
"Won't ye be sittin' down wid us, me dear?" The old woman who had kissed her hand dragged a chair forward invitingly.
"'Tisn't much we've left ye," she pursued, "but ye'll be havin' a piece of cheese now?"
Miss Kezia heard, amazedly, her own voice making excuses, as she edged back into the doorway. A grimy little hand was thrust up in front of her; a beguiling little voice suggestively besought God to bless her.
Miss Kezia looked down into a smutty imp's face with eyes as blue and innocent as Heaven.
"God bless ye, lady! God bless ye, lady!"
Slowly Miss Kezia opened her purse, slowly she took from it a halfpenny, and dropped it into the little hand.
"God send ye a good husband, lady!" rang out jubilantly. "God guard every shtep of your way!"
Miss Kezia found herself surrounded suddenly by bare legs, blue eyes, outstretched hands, entreating voices.
"God bless ye, lady! God bless ye, lady!"
There were five halfpennies and two farthings in her purse. She dispensed them automatically.
"God send ye a good husband! God send ye a good husband!"
Even the smallest imp, a scrap of a thing, about a foot and a half high, shrilly called on Heaven to provide her with a suitable partner.
Miss Kezia looked uncomfortable. She shut her purse with a snap and retreated on to the landing. But they followed her, all talking at once. Her hands were taken again. Disconcerting questions as to her family, her parents, were asked. The old woman who had stood beside her barrow for ten years without once putting her foot to the ground broke out wailingly into an account of her trials, her sorrows, and pains. A black-bearded man gave her a picturesque presentment of his life as a father of eight children. His was the shoulder on which the objectionable monkey sat. He came close, emphasising, with dramatic gestures, his story. The monkey stretched out a thin little arm towards Miss Kezia's bonnet. Miss Kezia backed precipitately. Why did her bonnet possess a fascination for monkeys, she wondered shudderingly. She hated monkeys.
"Sure, thin, isn't he welcoming one of his own people?" the man with the black beard observed.
Miss Kezia thought the remark impertinent, and concluded that it was intended to be funny. It wasn't.
It gave her disapproval the necessary fillip, and she managed to beat a retreat. Once in her bedroom, she shut the door, and, with a hurried air not usual to her, turned the key in the lock.
Miss Kezia possessed an uncompromising conscience. She never allowed it to veil or excuse her motives. Yet, as she stood untying the strings of the bonnet that possessed such a weird attraction for the monkey tribe, she said to herself that she really must turn out and tidy a certain drawer at once. To an outsider the drawer would have seemed tidy enough, but Miss Kezia, sitting before it, the door still locked, methodically sorted out and refolded every article it contained. As she was refolding, for the third time, a certain scarf that was the last article to be tidied, the noise that had been surging, high and low, exuberant and sad, in her ears, as a never ceasing accompaniment to her tidying, suddenly swelled into sharper sounds, and she understood that the door of the Stronghold had been opened. She sat, rigid, a queer dread on her face. The dread gave place presently to absolute astonishment at the noise they managed to make. The rapid talk, the laughter, the jokes, bewildered her. The great affection that evidently existed between them and her young relatives surprised her.
"Old tenants," she surmised. "How very fond they are of their landlord's children!"
She experienced a distinct feeling of gratitude towards the Albert Hall, and the Irish concert that was to be held there that evening, and for which her relatives had taken tickets.
For a quarter of an hour by Miss Kezia's watch, the "tenants" bade their landlord's children good-bye. Three times the door was shut, three times there came bangs and thumps on it, and it was re-opened. And each time all the noise and talk began again.
Later on Miss Kezia ventured forth. On meeting the O'Briens, she observed with forbearance that she trusted they would make things tidy now that their father's tenants had gone. She went on to remark that it was strange so many of them should be in London. They were a good deal amused. They pointed out airily that they were no tenants of their father's; that they had never seen them till that day; that they had just come across them. It was the last shock poor Miss Kezia received on that 17th of March. She was very angry, and very genuinely bewildered. She watched them go off to their concert with a sense of relief. She felt a newly developed fondness for the Albert Hall.
CHAPTER XXIX
The day after St. Patrick's day was a bad one for them. It was a beautiful day, bright and cold; but, in the reactionary mood that had gripped them all in a great gloom, the very brightness was a thing to rail at.
At the breakfast-table Miss Kezia gazed at them astonished. She was not a keen observer, but even she, with the memory of yesterday in her mind, marvelled at the sudden depression.
Denis, in the hall, observed gloomily:—
"Wish I'd get run over, or save a millionnaire's life. Either'd make a break."
"Millionnaires only get their lives saved in books," Nell rejoined bitterly.
He kicked the hat-stand angrily.
"Look here, Nell, I can't go to that beastly bank to-day. I'm sick of it! I'll be committing suicide, or murder, or something, if I do!"
A quick little sob caught suddenly at her throat.
"Oh, Denis!" she whispered. "Oh, Denis!"
He smoothed out a dent he had made in his hat. He looked up at her, a humorous smile twisting his mouth.
"Anyhow, I'll be a success as an author soon," he said. "Didn't I say all this beastly bank business was copy? Well, my books'll be pretty morbid and sordid, won't they?"
She felt blindly for his coat; it danced before her eyes in a mist. He began to laugh.
"I say, old fumble-fist, wouldn't old Pom-Pom be rich while I was murdering him? I can see him—'Excuse me, Mr. O'Brien, but you really are going to work in an unnecessarily rough manner.'" He dived an arm into the coat she held out for him. "Nell—think I shall ever want to bring in a realistic murder into a book? If so, now's the time to get it."
"You're late. Don't dawdle."
"Bet I'd get to the corner before you even if I gave you the steps in!"
"Not you!"
She flung open the door, jumped the long flight of steps, and vanished. She came back laughing, flushed, and vanquished, into the disapproving arms of Miss Kezia.
She listened to the lecture that followed in a passion of dreary revolt. When it was finished she observed tragically, "Next time I'll put on aveil!"
She went upstairs to Molly and French translation. She set Sheila Pat a sum to work out. Sheila Pat sat and gazed awhile at the figures, then she slid down from her chair.
"I won't do it, Nell!" she said.
She stood, a small figure at bay; a little quiver passed through her.
"Very well, asthore," Nell said gently.
The Atom went to the window and looked out. She came back to the table.
"Give me something to do, please, Nell."
Molly began, "Why, you just said—"
"I'm not sayin' it now, Molly O'Brien!"
"Duckie," Nell said, "will you write me a letter? I just feel I'd like a letter."
Sheila Pat got paper and ink and began:—
"My dear Nell—"
She wrote for a few minutes, then she said:—.
"May I say I've no time to write any more now, Nell? I don't want to write any more."
She went down into the garden and quarrelled violently with Stewart over the rival merits of St. George and St. Patrick. In the very heart of the argument she slipped and grazed her nose on the wall. But she retrieved her position without loss of time or dignity, and went on with the argument.
Nell met her later wandering aimlessly up and down the stairs, in and out the rooms.
"Please don't touch me!" she said strenuously as Nell advanced, and she ran away down to the kitchen. At luncheon she hardly ate anything; she fidgeted, was rude to Miss Kezia.
Afterward she refused to go for a walk with the others. She said with forlorn dignity:—
"I am tired of walkin' between houses that squeeze you to death, thank you."
To omnibuses she made much the same objection. Nell, in pity, left her alone.
Later on Nell went out to buy a tube of rose-madder. She was painting desperately, in a sudden wild accession of determination to get back to Kilbrannan somehow. When she came back she found Molly deep in a book in the Stronghold.
"Where's the Atom?"
"Somewhere about."
Nell searched.
"She isn't."
"Oh, she's gone, then. I didn't know she'd gone yet. The maid came from next door to ask her to go to tea with Stewart."
"I'm glad."
A little before six Miss Kezia came into the Stronghold. Denis whisked Jim behind him, and faced her serenely.
"Molly, I wish to know if it is to you I am indebted for—these?"
She held out a pair of large, flat, square-toed shoes, and pointed majestically to two frivolous-looking little bows on their toes.
Molly grew scarlet.
"Y-yes, Aunt Kezia! I—I—"
"I thought so. I should like to knowwhymy property is never to be safe from you?"
"I—I saw—I saw therehadbeen bows—and I—I made fresh ones—"
"Yes. I picked the bows off myself. I object to them." She stared at Molly with a puzzled frown. "You are a very peculiar girl," she said, and left the room.
"I tookhourssewing them on!" wailed the discomfited Molly to an unsympathetic and much-amused audience.
"I believe our dear aunt thinks you're a bit wanting," declared Denis, tapping his brow.
Miss Kezia put her head round the door again
"Where is Sheila?"
"She hasn't come back yet."
"Come back? From where?"
"Next door," said Nell.
"What has she gone there for? I object to her running in and out."
"She went to tea."
"No. I have come from there only half an hour ago."
"Are yousure?" Nell looked bewildered.
"Stewart had tea with us. She was not there."
Nell looked at Molly; her eyes had widened suddenly,
"Molly!"—her voice was quite sharp—"you said she had gone—"
"I thought she had. A maid came and asked her—"
Denis bounded down the stairs.
"Sarah!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Do you know anything about a maid coming from next door to ask Miss Sheila to go to tea?"
"Yes, sir, but she said, 'No, thank you, she didn't wish to go.'"
"Have you seen her go out, Sarah?"
"No, sir. She's never out, and it pouring and that bitter cold and windy!"
In another minute he had on his coat, and had gone off to the milkman's to see if she were there. The others waited. Molly tried guiltily to comfort Nell, and to excuse herself.
"Oh, do be quiet!" Nell interrupted her. "Can't you at least do that?"
Denis returned with no news of her.
"She may have gone to Mr. Yovil's or to Sarah's home—"
"Or Ted Lancaster's—Denis," Nell's voice was desperate, "she's been gone nearly three hours! I can't stay here. I'll go to Sarah's, while you go—"
"You will not! You cannot go out alone! It is dark and raining," Miss Kezia interrupted.
Nell gave a queer little laugh.
"I'm going," she said.
"Nell," Denis interposed, "I'll get you a cab. You go to Mr. Yovil's—I'll go off to Lancaster's. Sarah will go home." His tone was quietly authoritative.
Miss Kezia found herself put aside and everyone obeying him implicitly. In reality she was very uneasy and anxious herself, but she hid it beneath a cold and disapproving manner.
Nell returned a few minutes after he did. She shook her head.
"He was out. She hasn't been there."
"There's Sarah yet. She isn't back."
"Must we wait, Denis?"
"No. I'm off to the police station. If she should bring her back, I can go and cancel orders."
His hand was on the door latch. "Here's Sarah!" he said.
Sarah hurried in, wet, breathless.
"No, missansir—oh, and them crool moters—and she such a baby for all her grown ways!"
The wind and the rain beat in angrily. Denis closed the door, and turned to speak to Nell. Something drove up and stopped outside. He flung open the door. In the light of the lamp they could discern a small figure standing by a horse's head. The horse was in a four-wheeled cab, the driver was getting down from his box. The next instant Sheila Pat was met at the gate and marshalled up the steps. Into the hall she came, a small, weary figure, drenched through, her face shining white in the lamplight.
They closed round her; Nell's arms squeezed her desperately; there was a babel of questions, reprimands, relief.
"What a rikkledous fuss!" were the first words the Atom spoke, and a strong odor of peppermint began to pervade the hall.
"Where have you been?" demanded Miss Kezia for the third time.
"Out," laconically.
Nell cried: "Oh, Sheila Pat, you're soaked through! Come and get dry things on!"
"Directly her clothes have been changed I wish to hear an account of what she has been doing," said Miss Kezia.
Denis picked her up into his arms and held her tight. "You're eating peppermint, you vulgar little ragamuffin!"
"He gave it me—he says it keeps out the cold wonderful. He used to take to drink to keep himself warm, but ever since his little baby was borned, a year ago, he sucks peppermint instead!" The excited little voice vanished up the stairs.
"With whom have you been consorting, Sheila?" Miss Kezia's dire tones followed her.
"I haven't been con—con—doin' that at all!" was the indignant response.
Denis translated into the wet ear nearest to him:—
"Who was 'he,' duckums?"
"Mr. Willie Riley," in a dignified voice. "And I shared his tea!" triumphantly.
"Hurry up, Denis!" Nell's face was worried, anxious. "I've her dry things all ready. But I think she ought to go to bed—"
"I won't! Sure, Nell O'Brien, I'm not a baby to go to bed at seven o'clock!"
Nell, rubbing her down, found she was shivering and trembling all through her slim little body. She huddled her into warm, dry clothes, rubbed her toes, hugged her.
"Asthore, asthore, you've given us all such a bad time!"
"But, Nell, I'm really not a baby! I don't see why you make such a fuss."
"You're absurd, Atom! We didn't know what might be happening to you. We don't know now what was happening. Youmusttell us—"
"I went out, and—and I got lost, Nell."
"But where did you go? And why?"
"Oh, we were all so frightened!" interposed Molly. "And I felt so awful, because I told Nell you were next door. I never dreamed you'd said you wouldn't go, and I heard the maid say it to Sarah, and oh, Sarah cried and said motor cars killed all the children, and I do think you're awfully naughty—" She stopped, out of breath.
"So do I." Nell's arms were round her again; she gave her a little shake. "I'm dreadfully angry with you, sweet, and you shall have some nice hot bread and milk presently."
"I don't want it, Nell! I shared Mr. Riley's tea."
"Tell me why you went out, Atom," she coaxed.
The little body stiffened.
"A person doesn't—always—want to—to tell things," she said, a note of desperation in her voice. "I'll tell you all about Mr. Riley," eagerly.
Denis came in. "I say, Aunt Kezia's waiting. Come and confess, Atom!"
"I won't."
"You've got to be a man. Come along."
He had touched the right note. Downstairs marched the Atom and into the dining room. Not pale was she now. Two vivid spots of colour glowed in her cheeks; her eyes shone. She sat her down on a chair and began:—
"I wished to go out all by my alone, so I put on my things and I creeped down the stairs and out of the door—"
"Most wrong! Most naughty!" interpolated Miss Kezia, but the Atom went on unheeding.
"Sure I'll not be tellin' you anythin' I don't wish to, so it's no use askin' undesirable questions about—" a halt, a momentary quaver, "about things. This London is just houses and houses and houses and streets like—" pause for an insulting metaphor, "like twin maggots! And I got lost." She stopped abruptly.
"It is very naughty and selfish to cause so much trouble to others while you enjoy yourself roaming the streets!" said Miss Kezia.
A curious expression came into the Atom's small face—a bitter little expression that made it look oddly old for a moment.
"Go on, asthore," Nell put in. "What did you do when you were lost?"
"I walked and walked. I wouldn't ask a policeman the way, because Sarah's young man says they're a bad lot and you can't trust them. And then," her face kindled, "I came upon a cab-stand, and there was one poor horse with his nose-bag slipped down,—the strap had come loose, and he couldn't get his poor nose in at all,—and I ran across and I kissed his nose—it had a white flame—he was a bay with a hog mane—and I tried to get his bag up, but, oh, 'tis heavy they are! I tried and tried, and I gave him a handful of oats to go on with, and then Willie Riley came along—" She broke off. "Oh, Nell," she said, in a breathless little aside, "all day long I'd been hearing all these hidjous London people's voices, all shoutin'—and Willie Riley came along, and oh, he called out, 'Sure and what's wrong at all?' Oh, but 'twas grand! All day I hadn't heard it. 'Sure and what's wrong at all?' just like that."
"The horse might have bitten you. It was a most foolish and foolhardy thing to do," reprimanded Miss Kezia.
Sheila Pat stared at her in a funny little considering way, then pursued:—
"He soon put it right, and then we had a talk. Nell, he comes from Cork! And he was tellin' me all about his home—"
"Get on with whatyoudid!" put in Miss Kezia.
"I'm tellin' you," obstinately, "I talked with him. And then he drove me here." With a sudden abrupt movement she slipped from the chair. "I'll go to bed now."
There were great dark rings round her eyes; Nell saw her shiver.
"Come on, then, Atom," Denis picked her up again. "I'll carry you up."
The small arms went with sudden desperate clinging round his neck; Sheila Pat pressed her cheek hard into his.
"She must be punished," said Miss Kezia. "She has been wandering about alone for more than three hours."
"We'll see about that to-morrow," Denis said.
Nell went towards the kitchen.
"Where are you going, Eileen?"
"To make her some hot bread and milk."
"It is perfectly absurd the way you none seem to think she should be punished—"
"I shall make her promise never to go out alone again."
"She shared that cabman's tea," grimly; "that is sufficient. I will not have her coddled and fussed over as if she has done something clever."
"She must have the bread and milk. She is tired and shivering." Nell's eyes looked dark, her head was back. For a moment Miss Kezia hesitated whether she should enforce her words. She glanced keenly at Nell's face.
"If it is to stave off a cold, I will say no more," she said, and turned away.
When Nell took the bread and milk up, she found Sheila Pat on Denis's knee, flushed, heavy-eyed, half asleep.
"I don't want it, Nell! Make her take it away, Denis!" Her tone was peevish.
"Not I. I want you to eat it. Come, try, old girl."
But the Atom turned her head away, and buried it deeper in his chest.
"I don't want it! I don't want it!"
"But you've got to try and eat it, Sheila Pat! Come, don't be a baby."
She sat up listlessly.
"I'll feed you. We'll pretend you are a baby, shall we?"
Halfway through it her heavy lids drooped, her weary little head fell back against his shoulder. Nell took the basin away.
"I'll get her to bed as quickly as I can," she whispered.
"Molly, run and fetch her nightie—to warm."
But the Atom clung wearily to Denis.
"I don't want to go to bed. Denis, need I go to bed?"
"Must, old lady."
"May I go in my clothes, then? I don't want to get undressed."
"You'll be so much more cosey, dear," coaxed Nell. "It won't take a minute."
Denis put her down. She stood gazing into the fire, her sleepy eyes closing now and then.
"Oh, Nell—why does a person have such a lot of clothes?" as her arms were dragged out of various garments.
"Oh—leave my chimmy on—"
"Need I have my stockin's off?"
In her blue flannel nightgown she knelt in front of a chair and said her prayers. She roused over them.
"I've got a new bit to-night," she said, and gave a curious little shudder. "I'm goin' to pray it to Jesus as well as God."
When she had finished Nell carried her into their bedroom, wrapped in a warmed blanket.
"Good night, Nell." Sheila Pat's arms clung tight.
Three times Nell peeped in that evening, and found her tossing restlessly, wide-eyed.
When she came to bed, Sheila Pat was still awake. She sat up.
"Nell, I've been very inceitful!"
"You're going to tell me why you went out?"
"Yes."
Nell sat down on the bed and took her, blankets and all, into her lap.
"Now, sweetheart."
But the Atom was silent. She wriggled restlessly.
"I feel—oh, someone's playin' tunes in my head, Nell! I—won't I ever be sleepy again? My legs hurt, Nell. Is it all those steps?"
"What steps, dear?"
"The monnyment. Are youverys'prised? I went up the monnyment—to—Nell, do you think I've got a cold comin'? My nose feels funny."
"I'm afraid you have. Go on, pet."
"The boy told me—I asked him—he had blue eyes and red cheeks and—and I thought he might be nice like an Irish boy, and—and—I—I felt," with sudden passion, "I would justdieif I didn't see it—just one tiny bit! And he said I could—from the top of the monnyment—he said, 'Oh, yes, you can see Ireland right enough from there, you can see all the world,' but—I—couldn't—"
Nell's arms tightened about her.
"He was a wicked boy! He told a lie. I mustn't say 'lie,' but I will. I could only see—dirty—smoke—and houses—"
"How did you find your way there?"
"I don't know. It was very differcult, and I kept goin' wrong, but I asked people. And one woman gave me an apple off her barrow. It was very kind of her. But there was only smoke and houses—"
A sudden convulsive sob shook her from head to foot.
"I—Iranup a lot of the steps—" her fingers dug into Nell's arm—"and it was three pennies—and the man told me there are three hundred and forty-five steps—it was a long way—and," a little terrified shudder shook her, "there's a nasty cage—he said it's because people used to throw theirselves over to—because they wanted to kill theirselves, Nell! I—I didn't know people ever wanted to kill theirselves, did you?"
The shrinking terror in her eyes hurt Nell horribly.
"Don't, Atom—don't! Dear, it's only poor people who—who are mad—who don't know what they are doing. If they knew, they wouldn't do it."
The terror lightened a little. She lay quiet a little while in Nell's arms.
Nell hoped she was falling asleep, but presently the whole small form was shaken by another desperate sob.
"It was only smoke—-and houses—" came a desolate little murmur of utter weariness.
"Try to go to sleep, darling—do try."
"I'm not cryin', Nell! Only—I—you see shiverin' and a cold is rather like cryin', isn't it?"
"Very much, but you'll be better to-morrow. You must get better quickly, because suppose our first letters from Australia were to come with you sick! And they may come any day now, sweet. And there mustn't be anyone sick here! Because how can we celebrate the occasion properly then? If the letters say that mother is quite,quitestrong again—and they will, darling, I know they will!—well, what shall we do then?"
She talked on softly, gently, and after a while the Atom slept. Nell sat for some time with her on her lap, frightened to move lest she wake her, but at last she laid her gently in her bed, and the Atom still slept on.
But the next morning Nell was wakened suddenly at six o'clock. She sat up. The Atom was striving to pour some water from the bottle to the glass, and it was the two clinking together that had waked Nell. The bottle shook in the Atom's hands; Nell saw that she was shaking all over.
She slipped to the floor.
"Go back to bed, asthore, I'll give you some water."
"I—I'm so th-thirsty, Nell, and I c-can't keep still—I'm r-rather like Mrs. J-Jelly!" with a shivery little smile.
"You're frozen. Now, drink it quickly, and let me tuck you in again."
"I'd sooner get up, Nell."
"Not yet, Sheila Pat."
"My bed's so c-cold, Nell. I don't like my bed."
"Come into mine, dear."
She snuggled into Nell, shivering and shaking.
"Will I make you very cold?"
"Oh, no, asthore. Now go to sleep."
After a while Nell dozed. She woke suddenly to find Sheila Pat lying beside her with all the bedclothes off.
"I'm so hot, Nell! I just burn—I b'lieve I'll scorch soon."
"You've caught a bad cold, Sheila Pat. You'll have to stay in bed."
"I won't! I want to go out and get cool. I'll go and have my cold bath now."
But very soon she was shivering again.
Miss Kezia sent for Dr. Everton. Sheila Pat was pronounced an invalid, the fire was lit, and the restless little Atom condemned to bed.
Dr. Everton looked grave; he murmured the dread words—rheumatic fever—but hoped it might be merely a heavy, influenza cold. He told them to be very careful.
It seemed a long, long day. Sheila Pat, realising she was to be an invalid, used all her sturdy powers to be a brave one. She was very hot and feverish; her poor little head ached, and she ached all over her body.
"Nell," she said once, "I can't be very little, after all, because there's such a heap of room for the aches! I feel most as big as the giant Mahon MacMahon. Nell, I wonder if he ever caught cold?"
But there was something that worried the Atom and tormented her far more than the worst of the aches did, and that was a bewildering, disconcerting longing to cry that had assailed her. Over and over again the tears got as far as her eyes, and had to be hidden away in the pillow. Once one ran down her cheek, and they caught her breath in her throat and made it ache with a worse ache than that in her legs. She lay tossing and turning, her brilliant eyes full of a desperation that hurt the others to see. Every other minute she was sitting up, her pig-tail sticking out, breathing hard.
"Mayn't I get up, just for aminute? May I just put my legs over the edge, then? Nell, I—I'm just tired of bein' in bed!" The poor little voice shook despairingly.
"Atom,darling!"
"I will be good, Nell." Down she lay again. "Am I a very tiresome invalid?"
"You're a jewel, sweetheart, only you must try to lie quiet."
"Yes, Nell."
Pause.
"When will Denis come, Nell?"
"Directly he gets home from the bank."
"Will it beverylong now?"
"No, dear, not very."
"How long, Nell?"
"An hour and a half," unwillingly.
Sheila Pat hid weak tears in the pillow.