CHAPTER II"Four and threepence," said Denis, with his head up the chimney."Sure?" said Nell, doubtfully. "I've added it up three times, and it hasn't come to that once.""Then there's no doubt about it; four and threepence 'tis, my dear!"A pause. A scream."Oh, Denis, rescue them!"A horrible smell of burning ensued. Denis eyed the smoking stockings with equanimity."O dear," sighed Nell, "and there was only one tiny hole in them. It's all your fault, Denis. You shouldn't be rude to me, when your head's such a beautiful target."But Denis had emerged from the chimney, and was quietly smoking his cigarette in the open room."Jolly good idea, old girl. Twig? Every time I want to do a smoke, we'll burn a pair of stockings—they'd out-smell Patsy O'Driscoll's cigars!""Denis," Nell spoke with a puckered brow, "how muchisfive cakes when they're four for threepence halfpenny?""Nell, your grammar! It makes me feel faint!""'Are,' then. You're only trying to gain time. Oh, Atom, don't move! Kate Kearney's splendid like that. Imustget her."Denis looked over her shoulder as she dashed in a rapid pencil sketch. He glanced across at Molly and winked. It was a family joke that everything Nell began—accounts, sewing, tidying-up—ended, on the slightest possible pretext, in a sketch."Oh, Denis," Molly besought nervously, "IknowAunt Kezia will smell your cigarette!"He struck an attitude."I defy her! Shall an O'Brien be cowed by a Scotch woman, and in his stronghold, too? Shall a young man who is also a bank clerk be frightened of a mere ignoramusess—oh, Lor', Molly, hide me—hide me—here she comes!"Molly flung down the stocking she was darning."Oh, Denis!" she gasped, jumping up and knocking over her chair. "Oh—"But Denis had subsided on to the old lounge, with his head buried in the cushion, and Molly realised she had been "had." She made a wild rush at him, K.K. joined in the fray, and Nell's model was gone."Pommel me as much as you like," cried he, weakly. "That's the third time to-day you've swallowed Aunt Kezia!""I should think she would be rather indigestible," opined Nell, putting in a few finishing touches. "Denis, what do you think of the way these chrysanthemums have faded? Only two days, and they cost half a crown!""I'll get you some more."Nell looked thoughtful; she stubbed her paper viciously."I begin to fancy paupers oughtn't to indulge in flowers.""Oh, Irish paupers ought," he declared airily.The Atom arose, shook out her skirts, and proceeded to the door."Where are you going, Sheila Pat?""Downstairs," was the staid reply.Once outside, she stopped to smooth her hair; then she stood considering, with a thoughtful brow. She went into her bedroom, dragged a chair to the toilet table, scrambled on to it, and anxiously examined the pair of slim legs displayed in the glass. What she saw displeased her; she stamped angrily, and toppled off the chair with a crash."What's up?" came a musical shout from the direction of the "Stronghold.""Nothin' at all!" responded the Atom, with unabated dignity, though she was obliged for the moment to stand on one leg. She waited a minute, then lifting her loose frock, wiggled round and round in her efforts to unfasten her petticoat. She managed it at last, shook it down to her ankles, and mounted the chair again to view the effect. Her anxious face fell; she sighed heavily, and slowly climbed to the floor. She fumbled at the fastening of her petticoat, pulling it well up, then left the room. She went down the stairs till she reached the last flight that faced the front door. She sat down on the top stair and waited. The dusk deepened; the clock ticked on and on down in the hall, but the little pale face glimmered patiently at the top of the stairs. Presently a key grated in the lock of the door; Sheila Pat rose. The door opened, and a big broad man in a huge ulster came heavily in. Sheila Pat took a dignified step forward, missed, in the dusk, the stair, and rolled down and down to the big man's feet."Ach!" exclaimed the big man, and then he made noises that interested Sheila Pat, because they made her think of the hens in Biddy O'Regan's cottage. She rose; her cheeks were scarlet with shame."Are you hurrt?" exclaimed the big man."Not at all. Please," said the Atom, with a dignity a good deal bigger than herself, "please don't mention it. 'Tis a visit I've come to pay you," she added."Ach!" said the big man again.Over a large and very fierce mustache, all grey bristles, his eyes were twinkling down at her."Pray come in," he said, and opened the door of the room opposite the dining room. The Atom's face kindled triumphantly as she looked round. Miss Kezia's grim voice seemed to hover alluringly round the solid mahogany chairs and table."You are not to enter this room. Remember, I have forbidden you."Sheila Pat climbed on to one of the big chairs and sat down with a complacent smile.Herr Schmidt eyed her anxiously."You are quite sure you are not hurt, meine liebe? It was a bad fall, a very bad fall."Sheila Pat looked surprised. As a matter of fact her left elbow was smarting badly, and her left ankle bone, too, but in the O'Brien phraseology, this did not signify a "hurt." Moreover she objected to his alluding again to her undignified entrance into the hall. She gave her skirts a pull, and turned the conversation."How-d'you-do?" she said.He came forward and gravely shook hands."It is ze fine day, hein?" he observed, with a curious elephantine anxiety to be properly polite to his very polite visitor.The Atom's eyes turned to the window and studied the brilliant pink sky beyond it."The fine day, is it? It's not so bad for London," she observed in a disparaging voice."You come from Ireland?""Yes."He peered into the rigid little face and understood."I come from Shermany," he said gently. "Little one, you will return some day."The Atom said nothing."You haf ze nice little dog." Herr Schmidt changed the conversation cheerfully. "What do you call him?""She isn't a him at all," the Atom said scornfully; "'tis herself's a lady! An' her name's Kate Kearney.""Ach!" said Herr Schmidt.Sheila Pat looked at him gravely."I am very small for my age," she began in an anxious voice. "I'm not very young really. I'm more than six. I'm quite nine weeks more.""Quite very old," he agreed heartily. "And now you will eat and drink with me, hein?" He was opening a cupboard. "It is a very goot cake. I am what you call an old sweet-teeth. And the drink will not harm you; it is sweet and hot—it is made by my old mother." He poured out two glasses and handed her one."We will drink and be friends, eh?"She hesitated."'Tis wondhring I am just what a lodgeris," she explained. "I've never met one before, you see. Nell turned up her nose at you and said she'd never be dhramin' Aunt Kezia was so bad as to have a lodger.""Your aunt is a very kind laty; she allows me to live here, while I am far from Shermany," he said gravely.The Atom looked interested; after a pause of wonder she dismissed the question of her aunt's being a kind lady, and observed:—"Is that all? We'll drink then and be friends. I hope you won't mind if I don't love youverymuch, because you're not Irish, you see."He declared he would be satisfied with what degree of affection she thought fit to bestow on him. She lifted her glass."'Tis Sheila Patricia Kathleen O'Brien I'm called, butyoumust be callin' me Miss O'Brien.""Ach, so, of course. And I," he bowed deeply, "am Herr Schmidt, Miss O'Brien."The Atom's heart rejoiced exceedingly. She put down her glass and slipped off her chair. Gravely she bowed her head, and the pig-tail stuck out with a rakish air of enjoyment. Reseating herself, she politely urged him to have some cake."Now we are friends, I will interdruce you to my Snowy-Breasted Pearl, Mr. Hair Smitt. He is very beautiful. I couldn't bring him with me, because, he preferred to stay in his cage." She eyed a red tooth-mark on her forefinger. "He is very high-spirited, you see. He is gold and brown and he has a white breast like pearls and snow, and he is white behind, too—just up over his extremes and both hind legs. Nell has painted him lots of times. You see, in the song, 'the snowy-breasted Pearl' is a lady, but mydearguinea-pig was so'zact, I crissened him that.""I wish you would be so goot as to sing the song to me, Miss O'Brien.""Is it me sing? Oh, yes. But it's rather long. Do you think you'd get tired of it at all?"He denied such a possibility with horror."My mouth is rather full of cake, Mr. Hair Smitt. Do you mind waitin' a little?"The cake disposed of, she lifted up a sweet little voice, and sang:—"'There's a colleen fair as May,For a year and for a dayI have sought by ev'ry wayHer heart to gain."'There's no art of tongue or eyeFond youths with maidens try,But I've tried with ceaseless sigh,Yet tried in vain.'"(Pause.) "I'm afraid I forget some," the Atom confessed, ashamed. "But I know all the parts about my guinea-pig," she added anxiously."Will you sing those parts?" he asked courteously.She began again:—"'Oh, thou bloomin' milk-white doveTo whom I've given my love,Do not ever thus reproveMy consancy."'For if not mine, dear boy,Oh, snowy-breasted pearl,May I never from the fairWith life return.'"Itoughtto be 'girl' to rhyme with 'pearl,' but, you see, heisn'ta girl, so I made up 'boy' myself. Doesn't the song fit himbeautifully?"The door had been left ajar; a small black nose inserted itself in the crack with a pathetic snort."It is your little dog!" Herr Schmidt exclaimed. "Come in! Come in!" He gave a great fat laugh. "Come in!"Sheila Pat slipped to the floor."She's shy," she explained, and went and opened the door wide.Kate Kearney trotted in, sleek and black, giving little scriggles of love as she came. She rubbed herself against the Atom's legs, she licked her hand, she lifted superlatively great innocent eyes."Kate Kearney, what is it you've been doin'?" the Atom said.K.K. went into an ecstasy of adoration; she jumped and licked the Atom's cheek, she wriggled, she ran to and fro, she gave short little whimpers, and she turned a reproachful, widely innocent gaze upon the Atom's suspicious countenance.Sheila Pat laughed proudly."She always looks burstin' with goodness when she's been doin' somethin' bad," she said."She is a beautiful little dog.""She got first prize at the dog show, in the cocker spaniel puppy class, an' a 'Highly Commended' in the open class.""Ach!" said Herr Schmidt."Aunt Kezia doesn't like her. Molly says she would if she was a cat, because old maids always like cats, but Sarah says she won't let her give scraps to the poor starvin' creatures at all. Kate Kearney mostly stays in the Stronghold with us. Denis 'gested the name. Isn't it a good one? It's our very own room, you see, and Aunt Kezia's the enemy we keep—" There was a jerk, a pause.Herr Schmidt, peering across at her, saw an agonised wave of red mount to her very brow."I—I think I'd better be goin' now," but she did not move.He took a step towards her."Oh, oh,pleasewould you mind stayin' there?" she cried out in a shrill little agitated voice.He stopped abruptly."What is it, meine liebe?""You have been very kind, indeed, Mr. Hair Smitt." The Atom's exceedingly grown-up manner precluded any more questions. "Thank you very much. Would you mind turnin' your back a minute?"He moved away and looked out of the window.Sheila Pat with trembling hands turned up her skirt and grasped the dangling petticoat beneath, but as she did it, a wicked black head emerged from beneath the table, and wicked white teeth closed on the flannel and pulled—pulled."K.K.! I'llwhipyou! Drop it! Oh,dropit, K.K.!"But whether it was that the Atom dared not raise her voice above a whisper, or whether K.K. just felt specially naughty—anyway, she did not leave go.And Sheila Pat's proud soul was filled with very real agony. With a despairing "Please don't turn round—I'm goin'!" she fled out into the hall, stumbling along, with K.K. and her petticoat dragging her sideways. She sank on to the lowest stair and let her petticoat go; she watched K.K. drag it down her legs, across the hall. He had treated her so beautifully! He had behaved as if she were a grown-up. All had gone so well—and what would he think of her now? A vision of Biddy O'Regan's numerous babies trotting about with various garments dangling about their legs rose up before her eyes. Only babies let their things come down, the Atom thought, and she shuddered.K.K. brought the petticoat to her with a conciliatory wag, and laid it gently in her lap. The Atom took no notice. She was sure he had forgotten how she had tumbled down the stairs, and now—K.K. pushed a moist nose into her hand. "Oh, K.K., is it lovin' me you are afterthat?" She pointed to the petticoat with a short but tragic finger. K.K. laid a sweet head on her knee, with upturned eyes adoring.CHAPTER III"I'm getting quite fond of our Stronghold," said Nell. "That's crooked, Denis!""What if it is, and you an artist! I'm not going to take the nail out,—no, not if it's standing on its head. Isn't my thumb pathetic pulp already?""Gerrlscan't use a hammer!Gerrlsalways hit more thumb than anything else!" from the foot of the step-ladder came an impish voice."That you, Atom?" Denis flung himself down the steps. Sheila Pat fled, squealing, down the stairs and into the garden."Whatwe would have done without this room to call our own, my brain refuses to imagine!" Nell observed."Wasn't it just like mother to think of it?" queried Molly, wistfully.Nell nodded."And our teas! Thank goodness, Aunt Kezia desires us to have tea up here, in case some of her friends turn up. It's something to be looked upon as savages, after all, Mol!"She was digging a drawing pin through a mounted photograph of a beautiful Irish wolf hound. She touched his head softly with her finger before she turned away. He was Denis's dog, and he had been left at Kilbrannan with friends. She picked up a photograph of her little chestnut mare. She stood with it in her hands, then turned suddenly and put it away in her drawer of the table. The hound was still Denis's, but Acushla was sold—sold to the same friends who were taking care of the dog. Nell clinched her teeth. The other horses had been sold, too. She gathered up a pile of photographs taken by herself and Denis, and laid them in her drawer. For a minute the sick longing for them all, for her home, her father and mother, gripped her and held her silent. Then she turned to Molly."Hark at Sheila Pat's accent! Whose benefit is it for?"Molly looked out at the dingy scrap of garden."There's that little boy in the garden next door. Denis is chasing Sheila Pat."They reappeared in the Stronghold, the Atom's wild little face emerging from beneath Denis's arm, her legs and arms kicking and struggling. Denis seized the tablecloth, hauled it off with a clatter of falling lesson books, drawing board, pencils, and paint-box. "Hang on, Nell! We'll toss her."Miss Kezia, entering the room unnoticed, was surprised to find her youngest niece bouncing in the air."Aunt—Ke—" With a burst of terrified laughter Molly smothered the rest of the word.Denis and Nell, holding the tablecloth, with Sheila Pat enthroned in its middle, turned innocently to their aunt."I came," said Miss Kezia, "to see if there had been any accident.""Won't you sit down?" suggested Denis, with a wave of his disengaged hand toward a chair. "There's been no accident at all. What made you think there had?""The noise!" It was snapped out like the click of a box being shut."Noise?" He looked surprised. Sheila Pat, tailor-wise in her tablecloth, regarded Miss Kezia thoughtfully."May I ask," resumed her aunt, "if you are playing a game?""Jolly good game," Denis agreed smilingly."And it necessitates the smashing and throwing to the floor of—those?" pointing majestically. "And the ruining of the tablecloth?""Not necessarily, Aunt Kezia; Sheila Pat's only an Atom—I don't expect she'll tear the cloth.""You will not have another, in any case," Miss Kezia said. A little flush rose to Denis's brow; his mouth shut into a thin line. Then he looked at Nell."Nell, amn't I right in understanding that this isourcloth?""Quite, Denis.""Have—" exclaimed Miss Kezia, suddenly, "have you been knocking nails into my walls?""We'll pull them out," said Nell coldly, "since you object to them."Miss Kezia actually smiled a grim little smile."How very Irish! What good would that do, when the holes would still be there? It is most tiresome! It ruins the walls! It really—good gracious! Call your dog off!—Goaway!" Miss Kezia, red-faced, undignified, was striving wildly to extricate her skirt from K.K.'s teeth.For a few moments Denis and Nell's attention was engaged elsewhere; each was rearranging assiduously the folds of the cloth. And in the middle of it Sheila Pat sat and chuckled softly.Then Denis turned."K.K., drop it!" he said sternly, and K.K. obeyed with a sad little wriggle."It's a most objectionable dog," Miss Kezia said breathlessly. "I insist that you make no more holes in my paper!" And she marched from the room. Denis sank on to the lounge, stuffed the cushion into his mouth, and wildly waved his legs in the air.The door reopened—Nell made a frantic dash at his legs. "Of course you understand that I will not have that guinea-pig brought into the house!" Miss Kezia said, her eyes on Denis, who at the sound of her voice dropped the cushion and sat up with a ludicrous face of dismay.She retired once more, and for a minute there was dead silence in the room she had left. Then Nell fell into Denis's arms. "Oh—you gossoon!"On the floor, where she had been ignominiously dumped, Sheila Pat sat in her tablecloth and hugged Kate Kearney.Denis arose and seized her pig-tail."Let's attack the garden now, Atom."Nell was looking out of the window."There's that pretty little lame boy next door. I'm going down to talk to him.""I don't want to come, thank you," Sheila Pat said to Denis."Eh? Why not?""A person," quoted the Atom, "may have reasons.""You're a lazy Atom," said Denis, and strolled out of the room."The little boy's gone in," Molly observed.The Atom slipped out of the room and downstairs after Denis. Denis sat on an old up-turned wheelbarrow and studied a book on shorthand and the garden alternately."It's a problem that requires a good deal of thought," he observed lazily. "A back yard: Item—a patch of bare ground adorned with ten and a half blades of grass. Item—a narrow ridge of clay running parallel with the walls, in which flowers are presumably meant to grow. Item—a careless mosaic of china, etc. Item—a wheelbarrow. Item—a dustbin. Item—a diminutive Atom ready to turn it all into an elysium of sweet flowers.""Go on with your readin'," said the Atom, refusing to smile, and valiantly beginning to pick up bits of china."The spirit is willing, but the brain is weak. I've come to a standstill. Hulloa, K.K.'s over the wall!""It was a cat makin' faces at her. If that little boy's there, he'll be very frightened.""Why on earth should he be?""Oh, I know he will," with dire meaning.Nell came dancing out into the garden with Molly."You're out of step, Mol! Kate Kearney, I saw you leap the wall after a poor pussy!"She dug her toes into the wall and looked over."Can you give me that wicked little black bogy?" she called.Sheila Pat turned and trotted towards the house.Denis, on his wheelbarrow, eyed her inquiringly."Where are you off to? Going to exercise the Snowy-Panted Pearl?"The Atom refused to acknowledge the question. She always did refuse when he miscalled her Pearl so rudely.Over the wall Nell accepted a limp Kate Kearney from the little shy, fair-haired boy she had accosted, and held a conversation with him."Nell!" came a faint voice. "Nell! I'm caught! Oh,Nell!""Someone is calling," observed Denis, from his barrow.Nell looked round."It's Molly. I thought she was here. Stewart, you hear that cry? It comes from the mouth of my sister Molly. She has a predilection for falling into slop-pails, jamming her fingers into doors—Coming!" she sang out in response to a louder cry. "Good-bye, Stewart. Another time you must see my littlest sister." She dropped to the ground.Up in Molly's room she found wild confusion, and, in the midst of it, Molly hanging out of the wardrobe."I'm caught, Nell! Oh, it's killing me! You might have hurried—oh!""Hair this time," observed Nell, untwining and pulling, while the house echoed with Molly's screams. Her hair had caught in the hooks of a blouse hanging on one of the pegs. They were safety hooks, which were one of the trials of Molly's life.When she was freed at last, Nell looked round the room littered with boots, hats, frocks, collars."Whence?" she said, with a wave of her hand."I was looking for my thimble.""Oh!" said Nell, expressively."Nell," shouted Denis, from somewhere, "come up and look at these beastly grey collars!"She ran up to his room. The laundress was a grievance of his.She sat on his bed and sympathised; then she observed, "Denis, tell me what this Pennington is like.""Haven't I told you? I'll look a fine guy this evening in a dirty collar!""'Not half a bad chap. See him mimic old Tellbridge, his uncle—simply ripping,'" mocked she, suggestively.He laughed. "Is that all I told you? Well, it's his chief accomplishment. He's a little chap—very dark. I say, I told you old Tellbridge apologised that his wife hadn't called, because she's abroad, didn't I? He isn't a bad old chap, only he's got such a beastly pompous manner. Pennington calls him Uncle Pom-Pom. Well, he hasn't got much of a bargain with me!" He gave a quick sigh. "I do loathe figures, Nell!" Then he laughed again. "Aunt Kezia has been talking to me about the hours she expects me to keep! 'Pon my word, I believe she thinks I'm not a day over eleven!"At ten o'clock he came meekly home."Please, Aunt Kezia, I hope I'm not late?""I told you ten o'clock. You are punctual."He went up to the Stronghold. He found Nell huddled over the account-book."Well?" she said."Where's Molly?""Just gone to bed.""What are you doing?"She laughed."I'mtryingto do accounts. I've been trying more or less all the evening.""More foolish you! What's the use of accounts, anyway? If the money's gone, it's gone!""Yes, but still—why, you see, Denis, we—we've just got to be careful now, and I must see how our money dwindles when we never spend a farthing! And I can't get to-day right. I come threepence short.""Put it down to stamps.""I do my accounts honourably!""I'll help you. Read out items.""Woman with baby—india rubber—watch for boy," she enumerated glibly."Eh? Woman with an india rubber baby and a watchful boy? How much that little lot?"She was surreptitiously trying to tear a leaf from the account-book."Fivepence," she said, "and there was the hair ribbon for Molly—tenpence three farthings—that is one and threepence, three farthings, isn't it?"He reached out a long arm and captured the book. On the leaf opposite the items for the day, dangling, half torn out, was a pencil sketch of Kate Kearney."I—I forgot," said Nell. "I really didn't know I was doing it!""You know it's forbidden in this book," sternly."Plase, your Honour, I'm sorry.""You've got her expression splendidly. What had she been doing?""Eating Molly's hair-brush.""Injured innocence. It's ripping, Nell! You'll be a second Rosa Bonheur yet!"She sighed.He glanced at her quickly."We'll manage it somehow, old girl!""So we will! I'll sit on the pavement and draw pictures in vivid chalks, as a beginning, and with my earnings—oh, up and up I'll go—""To the Royal Academy—a studio in South Kensington—private exhibitions—your photograph in all the papers—interviews—'The charming young genius who has taken the artist world by storm greeted me with a delightful amiability. She afforded me a glimpse of a dimple and a half. I understand that her intimate friends are treated to three whole ones—'""Oh, be quiet. Tell me if I've done the adding and subtracting right.""You have! Nell, you're getting on. Meanwhile, we're threepence short. Three whole pennies!""Threepence is threepence."He looked surprised."Are you sure?""Ican'tthink what it is.""Account-book?" he suggested blandly.On the occasion of Nell's first essay at accounts, she had worried and fought and wrestled over a missing sixpence, till Sheila Pat brilliantly bethought her of the account-book, price sixpence. Thereafter the account-book was a family joke."Chestnuts!" said Denis, in solemn tone."Oh, you jewel! That's it. Now I'm beautifully right." She scribbled it down.He picked up a piece of stick, smooth and round. Nell glanced at it and laughed."That's Molly's! She's been sitting with a bit of hair rolled round it all the evening!"It was the ambition of Molly's life to have waving hair like Nell's. Secretly she tried many ways to make it curl. Pencils, pens, bits of stick, all were requisitioned in guilty secrecy."Now tell me about your evening, Denis. Who was there?""Uncle Pom-Pom and Pennington, of course. Chap named Lancaster, and a queer little man—Yovil, I think his name is—all grey and black bristles. He used to be the elocution master at Pennington's school. He writes, Nell!""Oh, what does he write?""There was an article of his in last month'sImperialon Coleridge. I'm going to get it. Pennington goes to his place every Tuesday—in the evening; some of the other boys who used to go to his school go too, and they talk and read and recite. No fee, you know; he just does it because he likes it—has an idea that when you've got to leave school to be a beastly clerk or something of that kind, you let your reading slip. Pennington says he's cranky on Billy S.!""Don't be so irreverent, Denis!"There was a pause."And the other—Lancaster—what is he like?""Decent sort of chap, I should think. Don't know much about him—awfully quiet—hardly spoke to any one. Pennington seems to think a lot of him. He beat me at billiards, anyway. Father's got a pot of money. There, that's all I know."Nell sat gazing into the fire. Suddenly her mouth dimpled."Denis, what do you think I've been doing this evening, beyond accounts?""Daubing.""No. I've been looking at things from Aunt Kezia's point of view.""Oh, lor'!" he said heavily."And I've come to the conclusion it's pretty hard on her to have four practically unknown relatives dumped down on her.""We're not sacks of coals," he remonstrated, "and she offered for the post. And we efface ourselves as much as possible. And we're rather nice, you know.""Sheila Pat went down to Herr Schmidt this evening, and requested him to take her for a walk, as she felt stifled. He did take her, and Aunt Kezia disapproved of that! Molly bet me I couldn't run up and down the stairs six times without a pause. I did it, and she disapproved ofthat. Poor Molly, trying to jump a hurdle,—two chairs arranged by me,—fell and hurt herself badly. She disapproved ofthat. Certainly she broke the chair," reflectively; "still, it seems to me Aunt Kezia disapproves of everything.""And on top of all that you fall to pitying her! I can't rise to your heights at all, my dear." Nell, chin in hand, puckered her brow thoughtfully."Why, you see, from her point of view we're a horrid nuisance—""Oh, are we, indeed? I wish Sheila Pat could hear you! Nell, if I don't go to bed at once, you'll arrive at the point of considering our respected aunt a martyred saint, and us the bad little imps who got her her crown! Well, anyway, the imps are useful! For isn't it a grand thing to be a martyr, and aren't we helping her to be one? I'm going to bed.""Lazy!""My dear, remember I am now a working man. Remember what my earnings are to go towards—" He broke off suddenly. "Nell, why can't I write a book or a play, and make my fortune?""You will soon."He shook his head."I can see it's all rubbish almost as I write it. No, Nell, you'll have to give us back Kilbrannan, alone!""I won't, Denis! You know you're much too conceited to let me do it. Mustn't you have your finger in every pie? And don't speak as if it isn't ours still! It's only let—""So it is!" He seized her round her waist. "We'll do it together—you and I—turn 'em out—buy back all the horses—and meanwhile—meanwhile, we'll economise like a couple of German Jews!"She looked at the jar of great golden chrysanthemums, at a large box of Fuller's chocolates he had brought them that day, and at her account-book where the money seemed to run away so mysteriously."Oh," quoth Denis, "it isn't the things like that that use up the money; it's the little things—copper here, copper there; 'Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves,' you know. That's sound commercial sense.""Is it?" said Nell. "Itsoundsall right.""It's as right as your hand which isn't your left. I'm going to put out the lamp."CHAPTER IV"Sarah," said Sheila Pat, "who's in the drawing-room?""Mrs. Barclay, miss.""Oh!" said Sheila Pat."Bread and butter—cakes—best milk jug—smallest spoons—that's right." Sarah's muttering ended with a sigh of relief."Sarah, are you very busy?""I've took the things up, miss, and now I've got to wash up the dinner things.""Sarah," wheedlingly, "let me help you.""Oh, no, miss, certainly not, and you oughter be upstairs, too.""I don't wish to be there," with dignity settling herself on the table. "Sarah, haven't you any silver to clean now? I do like cleaning silver.""Oh, no, miss, and you're making yourself dirty and all!"A pause, while Sarah bustled about and the Atom watched her."Sarah," sternly issued the small voice, "I inquest you to give me some workat once!""Oh—oh, certingly, miss, yes, miss." Sarah, in a flurry, routed out some shining pots and pans and gave them to the Atom to dust. Sheila Pat took them and examined them carefully. There was a long silence, while Sarah made up the fire and left the room to fill the coal box. When she returned she saw the Atom sitting in stiff idleness beside her pots and pans."What, done them already, miss! Well, you'avebeen quick; and how nice and bright you've made them look, to be sure!"The Atom fixed her with a stony eye."I haven't touched them," said she.Sarah collapsed in dire confusion."I may wear short dresses," resumed the Atom, coldly, "my fam'ly is resisting about that,—but I am not ababy, Sarah Jane Jones."Meekly and in awe, Sarah provided her with real work in the drying of cups and saucers and plates. The Atom unbent over her rubbing."Have you any brothers, Sarah?""Yes, miss, two.""How old are they?""One's three and t'other four and a 'alf, miss.""Have you any sisters, Sarah?""Yes, miss, three.""How old are they?""Two and five and seving, miss. I'm a long way the eldest in the fambly. There's three died between me and Gladys. Father, 'e died eighteen months back, too.""Your mother has had a lot of trouble, Sarah.""Yes, miss, and she's mostly ailing.""Would she like some cough medicine, do you think? You see I've got some in a bottle upstairs. I didn't use it all.""Thank you, miss. She takes in sewing when she's able, but they pay that bad! Threepence for a blarse! Did you ever, now?"The Atom fidgeted uncomfortably."I don'tquiteknow what a blarse is, Sarah, notquite, you see.""Why, a bodice as don't fit, miss, just 'angs loose, and you pull it in round the waist with a belt or somethink.""Oh!" said the Atom, recognising "blouse" now, but too polite to explain."No," pursued Sarah, "I'mthe worker of the fambly!"The Atom eyed her gravely."You're notverybig and strong, are you?" she queried doubtfully."Oh, there's a lot of work in me, miss, more'n you'd think. I can go on and on, you see. Why," proudly, "lots o' times when my back's just aching all over and my legs and feet too, I can work just as well ashever!""That's spunk, Sarah," said Denis's voice round the door."Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Denis!" Sarah, in her confusion, let fall a plate. "Oh!" she cried, "four pieces! Oh!" She wrung her hands.Denis laughed."My fault, Sarah; put it down to me."But the poor little maid-of-all-work had no smile left in her; her sharp little face was puckered and drawn into ludicrous lines of woe; tears stood in her pale eyes. "'Alf a crown at least!" she moaned beneath her breath. "I'd never match it under!"Denis glanced sharply at her. "What do you mean? You talk as if you will have to pay for it!""So I do, sir! Ten pounds—washing done out—pay your own breakages—no beer—no followers," she rattled off glibly."Do you mean Aunt Kezia makes you pay for everythin' you break?" interposed the Atom."Yes, miss!"There was scorn in Denis's eye; he drew a half crown from his pocket."I broke it, Sarah," he said gently. "Would you mind getting the new one for me? You'd bargain better than I should. Come on, Atom, everyone's asking for you."Sheila Pat held back."Is the goody-goo up there, too?""The what?""The little lame boy.""No; only his mother. Hurry up!"They left Sarah half weeping over his magnificent kindness. Denis little knew how from that moment he was a young god—a prince in a fairy tale—a hero—to the romantic Sarah.Up in the drawing-room a stiff little party sat nursing empty cups. In vain Mrs. Barclay tried to unstiffen it. Her eyes met Nell's, and a gleam of amusement shone in them before she discreetly veiled them beneath decorous lids.Miss Kezia was cross. She had been taken unawares. With a queer kind of heavy hospitality, she liked to know when a visitor was coming, that she might have cakes and scones of all sorts freshly baked. To-day she had not known, and there was nothing but bread and butter and half a dozen small cakes. So she sat, stiffly disapproving, and refused to unbend.Sheila Pat marched in, calm and cool, greeted Mrs. Barclay with her most pronounced accent, took her seat upon a chair, pulled down her skirt, and surveyed the room."I have a little boy not much older than you," Mrs. Barclay began pleasantly."Sure I'm knowin' that already.""He wants to know you very badly."Dead silence."I hope you will be friends—you and he."The Atom wriggled on her chair; then,"I don't care for children much, thank you; that is," her hopeless honesty impelled her, "not some children!"Nell broke in hastily, "I have spoken to him over the wall.""So I heard. He is rather lonely. We do not seem to know any nice young people."Denis suggested, "Usednot to know?"She laughed."I stand corrected. Well, I hope we shall soon know very well some very nice young people!" She rose to go."Will you come in to-morrow afternoon? Early—about three?""Oh, thanks—if Aunt—" Nell looked inquiringly at Miss Kezia."I have no objection.""When willyoucome, Miss McAlister? It is so long since you have—""I have not much time for gadding about, thank you.""Mind," Mrs. Barclay turned back to the others, "you are all to come!"Clear and distinct spoke Sheila Pat."'Tis engaged I'll be, Mrs. Barclay.""What do you mean, Sheila?" demanded Miss Kezia, frowning mightily."I shall be helping Sarah, thank you.""What maggot have you got into your head now?""'Tisn't a maggot at all," calmly. "I wish to do it. Sarah's a very good girl—for London, that is—and she has too much work entirely.""Sheila, when I wish you to help in the menial work of the house, I will ask you to do so. Tell Mrs. Barclay at once that you will be very glad to accept her kind invitation."The Atom heaved a most palpable sigh."I will come, then, thank you," she amended her aunt's words."Of all the rude little grumps!" Molly attacked her later on."I don't care! I do erject to goody-goos!""Who is a goody-goo?""Why, that silly little Stewart, of course.""How do you know?""Know, is it?" scoffed the Atom. "Hasn't he got big blue eyes and fair hair and a lame leg? Sure I know the sort!" her pig-tail jerking angrily. "And I just can't bear them, Molly O'Brien!""I don't see how you can tell. Denis has blue eyes—""Oh,Denis!" in a tone of strong contempt for Molly's lack of understanding. "There are eyes and eyes!"
CHAPTER II
"Four and threepence," said Denis, with his head up the chimney.
"Sure?" said Nell, doubtfully. "I've added it up three times, and it hasn't come to that once."
"Then there's no doubt about it; four and threepence 'tis, my dear!"
A pause. A scream.
"Oh, Denis, rescue them!"
A horrible smell of burning ensued. Denis eyed the smoking stockings with equanimity.
"O dear," sighed Nell, "and there was only one tiny hole in them. It's all your fault, Denis. You shouldn't be rude to me, when your head's such a beautiful target."
But Denis had emerged from the chimney, and was quietly smoking his cigarette in the open room.
"Jolly good idea, old girl. Twig? Every time I want to do a smoke, we'll burn a pair of stockings—they'd out-smell Patsy O'Driscoll's cigars!"
"Denis," Nell spoke with a puckered brow, "how muchisfive cakes when they're four for threepence halfpenny?"
"Nell, your grammar! It makes me feel faint!"
"'Are,' then. You're only trying to gain time. Oh, Atom, don't move! Kate Kearney's splendid like that. Imustget her."
Denis looked over her shoulder as she dashed in a rapid pencil sketch. He glanced across at Molly and winked. It was a family joke that everything Nell began—accounts, sewing, tidying-up—ended, on the slightest possible pretext, in a sketch.
"Oh, Denis," Molly besought nervously, "IknowAunt Kezia will smell your cigarette!"
He struck an attitude.
"I defy her! Shall an O'Brien be cowed by a Scotch woman, and in his stronghold, too? Shall a young man who is also a bank clerk be frightened of a mere ignoramusess—oh, Lor', Molly, hide me—hide me—here she comes!"
Molly flung down the stocking she was darning.
"Oh, Denis!" she gasped, jumping up and knocking over her chair. "Oh—"
But Denis had subsided on to the old lounge, with his head buried in the cushion, and Molly realised she had been "had." She made a wild rush at him, K.K. joined in the fray, and Nell's model was gone.
"Pommel me as much as you like," cried he, weakly. "That's the third time to-day you've swallowed Aunt Kezia!"
"I should think she would be rather indigestible," opined Nell, putting in a few finishing touches. "Denis, what do you think of the way these chrysanthemums have faded? Only two days, and they cost half a crown!"
"I'll get you some more."
Nell looked thoughtful; she stubbed her paper viciously.
"I begin to fancy paupers oughtn't to indulge in flowers."
"Oh, Irish paupers ought," he declared airily.
The Atom arose, shook out her skirts, and proceeded to the door.
"Where are you going, Sheila Pat?"
"Downstairs," was the staid reply.
Once outside, she stopped to smooth her hair; then she stood considering, with a thoughtful brow. She went into her bedroom, dragged a chair to the toilet table, scrambled on to it, and anxiously examined the pair of slim legs displayed in the glass. What she saw displeased her; she stamped angrily, and toppled off the chair with a crash.
"What's up?" came a musical shout from the direction of the "Stronghold."
"Nothin' at all!" responded the Atom, with unabated dignity, though she was obliged for the moment to stand on one leg. She waited a minute, then lifting her loose frock, wiggled round and round in her efforts to unfasten her petticoat. She managed it at last, shook it down to her ankles, and mounted the chair again to view the effect. Her anxious face fell; she sighed heavily, and slowly climbed to the floor. She fumbled at the fastening of her petticoat, pulling it well up, then left the room. She went down the stairs till she reached the last flight that faced the front door. She sat down on the top stair and waited. The dusk deepened; the clock ticked on and on down in the hall, but the little pale face glimmered patiently at the top of the stairs. Presently a key grated in the lock of the door; Sheila Pat rose. The door opened, and a big broad man in a huge ulster came heavily in. Sheila Pat took a dignified step forward, missed, in the dusk, the stair, and rolled down and down to the big man's feet.
"Ach!" exclaimed the big man, and then he made noises that interested Sheila Pat, because they made her think of the hens in Biddy O'Regan's cottage. She rose; her cheeks were scarlet with shame.
"Are you hurrt?" exclaimed the big man.
"Not at all. Please," said the Atom, with a dignity a good deal bigger than herself, "please don't mention it. 'Tis a visit I've come to pay you," she added.
"Ach!" said the big man again.
Over a large and very fierce mustache, all grey bristles, his eyes were twinkling down at her.
"Pray come in," he said, and opened the door of the room opposite the dining room. The Atom's face kindled triumphantly as she looked round. Miss Kezia's grim voice seemed to hover alluringly round the solid mahogany chairs and table.
"You are not to enter this room. Remember, I have forbidden you."
Sheila Pat climbed on to one of the big chairs and sat down with a complacent smile.
Herr Schmidt eyed her anxiously.
"You are quite sure you are not hurt, meine liebe? It was a bad fall, a very bad fall."
Sheila Pat looked surprised. As a matter of fact her left elbow was smarting badly, and her left ankle bone, too, but in the O'Brien phraseology, this did not signify a "hurt." Moreover she objected to his alluding again to her undignified entrance into the hall. She gave her skirts a pull, and turned the conversation.
"How-d'you-do?" she said.
He came forward and gravely shook hands.
"It is ze fine day, hein?" he observed, with a curious elephantine anxiety to be properly polite to his very polite visitor.
The Atom's eyes turned to the window and studied the brilliant pink sky beyond it.
"The fine day, is it? It's not so bad for London," she observed in a disparaging voice.
"You come from Ireland?"
"Yes."
He peered into the rigid little face and understood.
"I come from Shermany," he said gently. "Little one, you will return some day."
The Atom said nothing.
"You haf ze nice little dog." Herr Schmidt changed the conversation cheerfully. "What do you call him?"
"She isn't a him at all," the Atom said scornfully; "'tis herself's a lady! An' her name's Kate Kearney."
"Ach!" said Herr Schmidt.
Sheila Pat looked at him gravely.
"I am very small for my age," she began in an anxious voice. "I'm not very young really. I'm more than six. I'm quite nine weeks more."
"Quite very old," he agreed heartily. "And now you will eat and drink with me, hein?" He was opening a cupboard. "It is a very goot cake. I am what you call an old sweet-teeth. And the drink will not harm you; it is sweet and hot—it is made by my old mother." He poured out two glasses and handed her one.
"We will drink and be friends, eh?"
She hesitated.
"'Tis wondhring I am just what a lodgeris," she explained. "I've never met one before, you see. Nell turned up her nose at you and said she'd never be dhramin' Aunt Kezia was so bad as to have a lodger."
"Your aunt is a very kind laty; she allows me to live here, while I am far from Shermany," he said gravely.
The Atom looked interested; after a pause of wonder she dismissed the question of her aunt's being a kind lady, and observed:—
"Is that all? We'll drink then and be friends. I hope you won't mind if I don't love youverymuch, because you're not Irish, you see."
He declared he would be satisfied with what degree of affection she thought fit to bestow on him. She lifted her glass.
"'Tis Sheila Patricia Kathleen O'Brien I'm called, butyoumust be callin' me Miss O'Brien."
"Ach, so, of course. And I," he bowed deeply, "am Herr Schmidt, Miss O'Brien."
The Atom's heart rejoiced exceedingly. She put down her glass and slipped off her chair. Gravely she bowed her head, and the pig-tail stuck out with a rakish air of enjoyment. Reseating herself, she politely urged him to have some cake.
"Now we are friends, I will interdruce you to my Snowy-Breasted Pearl, Mr. Hair Smitt. He is very beautiful. I couldn't bring him with me, because, he preferred to stay in his cage." She eyed a red tooth-mark on her forefinger. "He is very high-spirited, you see. He is gold and brown and he has a white breast like pearls and snow, and he is white behind, too—just up over his extremes and both hind legs. Nell has painted him lots of times. You see, in the song, 'the snowy-breasted Pearl' is a lady, but mydearguinea-pig was so'zact, I crissened him that."
"I wish you would be so goot as to sing the song to me, Miss O'Brien."
"Is it me sing? Oh, yes. But it's rather long. Do you think you'd get tired of it at all?"
He denied such a possibility with horror.
"My mouth is rather full of cake, Mr. Hair Smitt. Do you mind waitin' a little?"
The cake disposed of, she lifted up a sweet little voice, and sang:—
"'There's a colleen fair as May,For a year and for a dayI have sought by ev'ry wayHer heart to gain."'There's no art of tongue or eyeFond youths with maidens try,But I've tried with ceaseless sigh,Yet tried in vain.'"
"'There's a colleen fair as May,For a year and for a dayI have sought by ev'ry wayHer heart to gain.
"'There's a colleen fair as May,
For a year and for a day
I have sought by ev'ry way
Her heart to gain.
Her heart to gain.
"'There's no art of tongue or eyeFond youths with maidens try,But I've tried with ceaseless sigh,Yet tried in vain.'"
"'There's no art of tongue or eye
Fond youths with maidens try,
But I've tried with ceaseless sigh,
Yet tried in vain.'"
Yet tried in vain.'"
(Pause.) "I'm afraid I forget some," the Atom confessed, ashamed. "But I know all the parts about my guinea-pig," she added anxiously.
"Will you sing those parts?" he asked courteously.
She began again:—
"'Oh, thou bloomin' milk-white doveTo whom I've given my love,Do not ever thus reproveMy consancy."'For if not mine, dear boy,Oh, snowy-breasted pearl,May I never from the fairWith life return.'
"'Oh, thou bloomin' milk-white doveTo whom I've given my love,Do not ever thus reproveMy consancy.
"'Oh, thou bloomin' milk-white dove
To whom I've given my love,
Do not ever thus reprove
My consancy.
My consancy.
"'For if not mine, dear boy,Oh, snowy-breasted pearl,May I never from the fairWith life return.'
"'For if not mine, dear boy,
Oh, snowy-breasted pearl,
May I never from the fair
With life return.'
With life return.'
"Itoughtto be 'girl' to rhyme with 'pearl,' but, you see, heisn'ta girl, so I made up 'boy' myself. Doesn't the song fit himbeautifully?"
The door had been left ajar; a small black nose inserted itself in the crack with a pathetic snort.
"It is your little dog!" Herr Schmidt exclaimed. "Come in! Come in!" He gave a great fat laugh. "Come in!"
Sheila Pat slipped to the floor.
"She's shy," she explained, and went and opened the door wide.
Kate Kearney trotted in, sleek and black, giving little scriggles of love as she came. She rubbed herself against the Atom's legs, she licked her hand, she lifted superlatively great innocent eyes.
"Kate Kearney, what is it you've been doin'?" the Atom said.
K.K. went into an ecstasy of adoration; she jumped and licked the Atom's cheek, she wriggled, she ran to and fro, she gave short little whimpers, and she turned a reproachful, widely innocent gaze upon the Atom's suspicious countenance.
Sheila Pat laughed proudly.
"She always looks burstin' with goodness when she's been doin' somethin' bad," she said.
"She is a beautiful little dog."
"She got first prize at the dog show, in the cocker spaniel puppy class, an' a 'Highly Commended' in the open class."
"Ach!" said Herr Schmidt.
"Aunt Kezia doesn't like her. Molly says she would if she was a cat, because old maids always like cats, but Sarah says she won't let her give scraps to the poor starvin' creatures at all. Kate Kearney mostly stays in the Stronghold with us. Denis 'gested the name. Isn't it a good one? It's our very own room, you see, and Aunt Kezia's the enemy we keep—" There was a jerk, a pause.
Herr Schmidt, peering across at her, saw an agonised wave of red mount to her very brow.
"I—I think I'd better be goin' now," but she did not move.
He took a step towards her.
"Oh, oh,pleasewould you mind stayin' there?" she cried out in a shrill little agitated voice.
He stopped abruptly.
"What is it, meine liebe?"
"You have been very kind, indeed, Mr. Hair Smitt." The Atom's exceedingly grown-up manner precluded any more questions. "Thank you very much. Would you mind turnin' your back a minute?"
He moved away and looked out of the window.
Sheila Pat with trembling hands turned up her skirt and grasped the dangling petticoat beneath, but as she did it, a wicked black head emerged from beneath the table, and wicked white teeth closed on the flannel and pulled—pulled.
"K.K.! I'llwhipyou! Drop it! Oh,dropit, K.K.!"
But whether it was that the Atom dared not raise her voice above a whisper, or whether K.K. just felt specially naughty—anyway, she did not leave go.
And Sheila Pat's proud soul was filled with very real agony. With a despairing "Please don't turn round—I'm goin'!" she fled out into the hall, stumbling along, with K.K. and her petticoat dragging her sideways. She sank on to the lowest stair and let her petticoat go; she watched K.K. drag it down her legs, across the hall. He had treated her so beautifully! He had behaved as if she were a grown-up. All had gone so well—and what would he think of her now? A vision of Biddy O'Regan's numerous babies trotting about with various garments dangling about their legs rose up before her eyes. Only babies let their things come down, the Atom thought, and she shuddered.
K.K. brought the petticoat to her with a conciliatory wag, and laid it gently in her lap. The Atom took no notice. She was sure he had forgotten how she had tumbled down the stairs, and now—K.K. pushed a moist nose into her hand. "Oh, K.K., is it lovin' me you are afterthat?" She pointed to the petticoat with a short but tragic finger. K.K. laid a sweet head on her knee, with upturned eyes adoring.
CHAPTER III
"I'm getting quite fond of our Stronghold," said Nell. "That's crooked, Denis!"
"What if it is, and you an artist! I'm not going to take the nail out,—no, not if it's standing on its head. Isn't my thumb pathetic pulp already?"
"Gerrlscan't use a hammer!Gerrlsalways hit more thumb than anything else!" from the foot of the step-ladder came an impish voice.
"That you, Atom?" Denis flung himself down the steps. Sheila Pat fled, squealing, down the stairs and into the garden.
"Whatwe would have done without this room to call our own, my brain refuses to imagine!" Nell observed.
"Wasn't it just like mother to think of it?" queried Molly, wistfully.
Nell nodded.
"And our teas! Thank goodness, Aunt Kezia desires us to have tea up here, in case some of her friends turn up. It's something to be looked upon as savages, after all, Mol!"
She was digging a drawing pin through a mounted photograph of a beautiful Irish wolf hound. She touched his head softly with her finger before she turned away. He was Denis's dog, and he had been left at Kilbrannan with friends. She picked up a photograph of her little chestnut mare. She stood with it in her hands, then turned suddenly and put it away in her drawer of the table. The hound was still Denis's, but Acushla was sold—sold to the same friends who were taking care of the dog. Nell clinched her teeth. The other horses had been sold, too. She gathered up a pile of photographs taken by herself and Denis, and laid them in her drawer. For a minute the sick longing for them all, for her home, her father and mother, gripped her and held her silent. Then she turned to Molly.
"Hark at Sheila Pat's accent! Whose benefit is it for?"
Molly looked out at the dingy scrap of garden.
"There's that little boy in the garden next door. Denis is chasing Sheila Pat."
They reappeared in the Stronghold, the Atom's wild little face emerging from beneath Denis's arm, her legs and arms kicking and struggling. Denis seized the tablecloth, hauled it off with a clatter of falling lesson books, drawing board, pencils, and paint-box. "Hang on, Nell! We'll toss her."
Miss Kezia, entering the room unnoticed, was surprised to find her youngest niece bouncing in the air.
"Aunt—Ke—" With a burst of terrified laughter Molly smothered the rest of the word.
Denis and Nell, holding the tablecloth, with Sheila Pat enthroned in its middle, turned innocently to their aunt.
"I came," said Miss Kezia, "to see if there had been any accident."
"Won't you sit down?" suggested Denis, with a wave of his disengaged hand toward a chair. "There's been no accident at all. What made you think there had?"
"The noise!" It was snapped out like the click of a box being shut.
"Noise?" He looked surprised. Sheila Pat, tailor-wise in her tablecloth, regarded Miss Kezia thoughtfully.
"May I ask," resumed her aunt, "if you are playing a game?"
"Jolly good game," Denis agreed smilingly.
"And it necessitates the smashing and throwing to the floor of—those?" pointing majestically. "And the ruining of the tablecloth?"
"Not necessarily, Aunt Kezia; Sheila Pat's only an Atom—I don't expect she'll tear the cloth."
"You will not have another, in any case," Miss Kezia said. A little flush rose to Denis's brow; his mouth shut into a thin line. Then he looked at Nell.
"Nell, amn't I right in understanding that this isourcloth?"
"Quite, Denis."
"Have—" exclaimed Miss Kezia, suddenly, "have you been knocking nails into my walls?"
"We'll pull them out," said Nell coldly, "since you object to them."
Miss Kezia actually smiled a grim little smile.
"How very Irish! What good would that do, when the holes would still be there? It is most tiresome! It ruins the walls! It really—good gracious! Call your dog off!—Goaway!" Miss Kezia, red-faced, undignified, was striving wildly to extricate her skirt from K.K.'s teeth.
For a few moments Denis and Nell's attention was engaged elsewhere; each was rearranging assiduously the folds of the cloth. And in the middle of it Sheila Pat sat and chuckled softly.
Then Denis turned.
"K.K., drop it!" he said sternly, and K.K. obeyed with a sad little wriggle.
"It's a most objectionable dog," Miss Kezia said breathlessly. "I insist that you make no more holes in my paper!" And she marched from the room. Denis sank on to the lounge, stuffed the cushion into his mouth, and wildly waved his legs in the air.
The door reopened—Nell made a frantic dash at his legs. "Of course you understand that I will not have that guinea-pig brought into the house!" Miss Kezia said, her eyes on Denis, who at the sound of her voice dropped the cushion and sat up with a ludicrous face of dismay.
She retired once more, and for a minute there was dead silence in the room she had left. Then Nell fell into Denis's arms. "Oh—you gossoon!"
On the floor, where she had been ignominiously dumped, Sheila Pat sat in her tablecloth and hugged Kate Kearney.
Denis arose and seized her pig-tail.
"Let's attack the garden now, Atom."
Nell was looking out of the window.
"There's that pretty little lame boy next door. I'm going down to talk to him."
"I don't want to come, thank you," Sheila Pat said to Denis.
"Eh? Why not?"
"A person," quoted the Atom, "may have reasons."
"You're a lazy Atom," said Denis, and strolled out of the room.
"The little boy's gone in," Molly observed.
The Atom slipped out of the room and downstairs after Denis. Denis sat on an old up-turned wheelbarrow and studied a book on shorthand and the garden alternately.
"It's a problem that requires a good deal of thought," he observed lazily. "A back yard: Item—a patch of bare ground adorned with ten and a half blades of grass. Item—a narrow ridge of clay running parallel with the walls, in which flowers are presumably meant to grow. Item—a careless mosaic of china, etc. Item—a wheelbarrow. Item—a dustbin. Item—a diminutive Atom ready to turn it all into an elysium of sweet flowers."
"Go on with your readin'," said the Atom, refusing to smile, and valiantly beginning to pick up bits of china.
"The spirit is willing, but the brain is weak. I've come to a standstill. Hulloa, K.K.'s over the wall!"
"It was a cat makin' faces at her. If that little boy's there, he'll be very frightened."
"Why on earth should he be?"
"Oh, I know he will," with dire meaning.
Nell came dancing out into the garden with Molly.
"You're out of step, Mol! Kate Kearney, I saw you leap the wall after a poor pussy!"
She dug her toes into the wall and looked over.
"Can you give me that wicked little black bogy?" she called.
Sheila Pat turned and trotted towards the house.
Denis, on his wheelbarrow, eyed her inquiringly.
"Where are you off to? Going to exercise the Snowy-Panted Pearl?"
The Atom refused to acknowledge the question. She always did refuse when he miscalled her Pearl so rudely.
Over the wall Nell accepted a limp Kate Kearney from the little shy, fair-haired boy she had accosted, and held a conversation with him.
"Nell!" came a faint voice. "Nell! I'm caught! Oh,Nell!"
"Someone is calling," observed Denis, from his barrow.
Nell looked round.
"It's Molly. I thought she was here. Stewart, you hear that cry? It comes from the mouth of my sister Molly. She has a predilection for falling into slop-pails, jamming her fingers into doors—Coming!" she sang out in response to a louder cry. "Good-bye, Stewart. Another time you must see my littlest sister." She dropped to the ground.
Up in Molly's room she found wild confusion, and, in the midst of it, Molly hanging out of the wardrobe.
"I'm caught, Nell! Oh, it's killing me! You might have hurried—oh!"
"Hair this time," observed Nell, untwining and pulling, while the house echoed with Molly's screams. Her hair had caught in the hooks of a blouse hanging on one of the pegs. They were safety hooks, which were one of the trials of Molly's life.
When she was freed at last, Nell looked round the room littered with boots, hats, frocks, collars.
"Whence?" she said, with a wave of her hand.
"I was looking for my thimble."
"Oh!" said Nell, expressively.
"Nell," shouted Denis, from somewhere, "come up and look at these beastly grey collars!"
She ran up to his room. The laundress was a grievance of his.
She sat on his bed and sympathised; then she observed, "Denis, tell me what this Pennington is like."
"Haven't I told you? I'll look a fine guy this evening in a dirty collar!"
"'Not half a bad chap. See him mimic old Tellbridge, his uncle—simply ripping,'" mocked she, suggestively.
He laughed. "Is that all I told you? Well, it's his chief accomplishment. He's a little chap—very dark. I say, I told you old Tellbridge apologised that his wife hadn't called, because she's abroad, didn't I? He isn't a bad old chap, only he's got such a beastly pompous manner. Pennington calls him Uncle Pom-Pom. Well, he hasn't got much of a bargain with me!" He gave a quick sigh. "I do loathe figures, Nell!" Then he laughed again. "Aunt Kezia has been talking to me about the hours she expects me to keep! 'Pon my word, I believe she thinks I'm not a day over eleven!"
At ten o'clock he came meekly home.
"Please, Aunt Kezia, I hope I'm not late?"
"I told you ten o'clock. You are punctual."
He went up to the Stronghold. He found Nell huddled over the account-book.
"Well?" she said.
"Where's Molly?"
"Just gone to bed."
"What are you doing?"
She laughed.
"I'mtryingto do accounts. I've been trying more or less all the evening."
"More foolish you! What's the use of accounts, anyway? If the money's gone, it's gone!"
"Yes, but still—why, you see, Denis, we—we've just got to be careful now, and I must see how our money dwindles when we never spend a farthing! And I can't get to-day right. I come threepence short."
"Put it down to stamps."
"I do my accounts honourably!"
"I'll help you. Read out items."
"Woman with baby—india rubber—watch for boy," she enumerated glibly.
"Eh? Woman with an india rubber baby and a watchful boy? How much that little lot?"
She was surreptitiously trying to tear a leaf from the account-book.
"Fivepence," she said, "and there was the hair ribbon for Molly—tenpence three farthings—that is one and threepence, three farthings, isn't it?"
He reached out a long arm and captured the book. On the leaf opposite the items for the day, dangling, half torn out, was a pencil sketch of Kate Kearney.
"I—I forgot," said Nell. "I really didn't know I was doing it!"
"You know it's forbidden in this book," sternly.
"Plase, your Honour, I'm sorry."
"You've got her expression splendidly. What had she been doing?"
"Eating Molly's hair-brush."
"Injured innocence. It's ripping, Nell! You'll be a second Rosa Bonheur yet!"
She sighed.
He glanced at her quickly.
"We'll manage it somehow, old girl!"
"So we will! I'll sit on the pavement and draw pictures in vivid chalks, as a beginning, and with my earnings—oh, up and up I'll go—"
"To the Royal Academy—a studio in South Kensington—private exhibitions—your photograph in all the papers—interviews—'The charming young genius who has taken the artist world by storm greeted me with a delightful amiability. She afforded me a glimpse of a dimple and a half. I understand that her intimate friends are treated to three whole ones—'"
"Oh, be quiet. Tell me if I've done the adding and subtracting right."
"You have! Nell, you're getting on. Meanwhile, we're threepence short. Three whole pennies!"
"Threepence is threepence."
He looked surprised.
"Are you sure?"
"Ican'tthink what it is."
"Account-book?" he suggested blandly.
On the occasion of Nell's first essay at accounts, she had worried and fought and wrestled over a missing sixpence, till Sheila Pat brilliantly bethought her of the account-book, price sixpence. Thereafter the account-book was a family joke.
"Chestnuts!" said Denis, in solemn tone.
"Oh, you jewel! That's it. Now I'm beautifully right." She scribbled it down.
He picked up a piece of stick, smooth and round. Nell glanced at it and laughed.
"That's Molly's! She's been sitting with a bit of hair rolled round it all the evening!"
It was the ambition of Molly's life to have waving hair like Nell's. Secretly she tried many ways to make it curl. Pencils, pens, bits of stick, all were requisitioned in guilty secrecy.
"Now tell me about your evening, Denis. Who was there?"
"Uncle Pom-Pom and Pennington, of course. Chap named Lancaster, and a queer little man—Yovil, I think his name is—all grey and black bristles. He used to be the elocution master at Pennington's school. He writes, Nell!"
"Oh, what does he write?"
"There was an article of his in last month'sImperialon Coleridge. I'm going to get it. Pennington goes to his place every Tuesday—in the evening; some of the other boys who used to go to his school go too, and they talk and read and recite. No fee, you know; he just does it because he likes it—has an idea that when you've got to leave school to be a beastly clerk or something of that kind, you let your reading slip. Pennington says he's cranky on Billy S.!"
"Don't be so irreverent, Denis!"
There was a pause.
"And the other—Lancaster—what is he like?"
"Decent sort of chap, I should think. Don't know much about him—awfully quiet—hardly spoke to any one. Pennington seems to think a lot of him. He beat me at billiards, anyway. Father's got a pot of money. There, that's all I know."
Nell sat gazing into the fire. Suddenly her mouth dimpled.
"Denis, what do you think I've been doing this evening, beyond accounts?"
"Daubing."
"No. I've been looking at things from Aunt Kezia's point of view."
"Oh, lor'!" he said heavily.
"And I've come to the conclusion it's pretty hard on her to have four practically unknown relatives dumped down on her."
"We're not sacks of coals," he remonstrated, "and she offered for the post. And we efface ourselves as much as possible. And we're rather nice, you know."
"Sheila Pat went down to Herr Schmidt this evening, and requested him to take her for a walk, as she felt stifled. He did take her, and Aunt Kezia disapproved of that! Molly bet me I couldn't run up and down the stairs six times without a pause. I did it, and she disapproved ofthat. Poor Molly, trying to jump a hurdle,—two chairs arranged by me,—fell and hurt herself badly. She disapproved ofthat. Certainly she broke the chair," reflectively; "still, it seems to me Aunt Kezia disapproves of everything."
"And on top of all that you fall to pitying her! I can't rise to your heights at all, my dear." Nell, chin in hand, puckered her brow thoughtfully.
"Why, you see, from her point of view we're a horrid nuisance—"
"Oh, are we, indeed? I wish Sheila Pat could hear you! Nell, if I don't go to bed at once, you'll arrive at the point of considering our respected aunt a martyred saint, and us the bad little imps who got her her crown! Well, anyway, the imps are useful! For isn't it a grand thing to be a martyr, and aren't we helping her to be one? I'm going to bed."
"Lazy!"
"My dear, remember I am now a working man. Remember what my earnings are to go towards—" He broke off suddenly. "Nell, why can't I write a book or a play, and make my fortune?"
"You will soon."
He shook his head.
"I can see it's all rubbish almost as I write it. No, Nell, you'll have to give us back Kilbrannan, alone!"
"I won't, Denis! You know you're much too conceited to let me do it. Mustn't you have your finger in every pie? And don't speak as if it isn't ours still! It's only let—"
"So it is!" He seized her round her waist. "We'll do it together—you and I—turn 'em out—buy back all the horses—and meanwhile—meanwhile, we'll economise like a couple of German Jews!"
She looked at the jar of great golden chrysanthemums, at a large box of Fuller's chocolates he had brought them that day, and at her account-book where the money seemed to run away so mysteriously.
"Oh," quoth Denis, "it isn't the things like that that use up the money; it's the little things—copper here, copper there; 'Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves,' you know. That's sound commercial sense."
"Is it?" said Nell. "Itsoundsall right."
"It's as right as your hand which isn't your left. I'm going to put out the lamp."
CHAPTER IV
"Sarah," said Sheila Pat, "who's in the drawing-room?"
"Mrs. Barclay, miss."
"Oh!" said Sheila Pat.
"Bread and butter—cakes—best milk jug—smallest spoons—that's right." Sarah's muttering ended with a sigh of relief.
"Sarah, are you very busy?"
"I've took the things up, miss, and now I've got to wash up the dinner things."
"Sarah," wheedlingly, "let me help you."
"Oh, no, miss, certainly not, and you oughter be upstairs, too."
"I don't wish to be there," with dignity settling herself on the table. "Sarah, haven't you any silver to clean now? I do like cleaning silver."
"Oh, no, miss, and you're making yourself dirty and all!"
A pause, while Sarah bustled about and the Atom watched her.
"Sarah," sternly issued the small voice, "I inquest you to give me some workat once!"
"Oh—oh, certingly, miss, yes, miss." Sarah, in a flurry, routed out some shining pots and pans and gave them to the Atom to dust. Sheila Pat took them and examined them carefully. There was a long silence, while Sarah made up the fire and left the room to fill the coal box. When she returned she saw the Atom sitting in stiff idleness beside her pots and pans.
"What, done them already, miss! Well, you'avebeen quick; and how nice and bright you've made them look, to be sure!"
The Atom fixed her with a stony eye.
"I haven't touched them," said she.
Sarah collapsed in dire confusion.
"I may wear short dresses," resumed the Atom, coldly, "my fam'ly is resisting about that,—but I am not ababy, Sarah Jane Jones."
Meekly and in awe, Sarah provided her with real work in the drying of cups and saucers and plates. The Atom unbent over her rubbing.
"Have you any brothers, Sarah?"
"Yes, miss, two."
"How old are they?"
"One's three and t'other four and a 'alf, miss."
"Have you any sisters, Sarah?"
"Yes, miss, three."
"How old are they?"
"Two and five and seving, miss. I'm a long way the eldest in the fambly. There's three died between me and Gladys. Father, 'e died eighteen months back, too."
"Your mother has had a lot of trouble, Sarah."
"Yes, miss, and she's mostly ailing."
"Would she like some cough medicine, do you think? You see I've got some in a bottle upstairs. I didn't use it all."
"Thank you, miss. She takes in sewing when she's able, but they pay that bad! Threepence for a blarse! Did you ever, now?"
The Atom fidgeted uncomfortably.
"I don'tquiteknow what a blarse is, Sarah, notquite, you see."
"Why, a bodice as don't fit, miss, just 'angs loose, and you pull it in round the waist with a belt or somethink."
"Oh!" said the Atom, recognising "blouse" now, but too polite to explain.
"No," pursued Sarah, "I'mthe worker of the fambly!"
The Atom eyed her gravely.
"You're notverybig and strong, are you?" she queried doubtfully.
"Oh, there's a lot of work in me, miss, more'n you'd think. I can go on and on, you see. Why," proudly, "lots o' times when my back's just aching all over and my legs and feet too, I can work just as well ashever!"
"That's spunk, Sarah," said Denis's voice round the door.
"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Denis!" Sarah, in her confusion, let fall a plate. "Oh!" she cried, "four pieces! Oh!" She wrung her hands.
Denis laughed.
"My fault, Sarah; put it down to me."
But the poor little maid-of-all-work had no smile left in her; her sharp little face was puckered and drawn into ludicrous lines of woe; tears stood in her pale eyes. "'Alf a crown at least!" she moaned beneath her breath. "I'd never match it under!"
Denis glanced sharply at her. "What do you mean? You talk as if you will have to pay for it!"
"So I do, sir! Ten pounds—washing done out—pay your own breakages—no beer—no followers," she rattled off glibly.
"Do you mean Aunt Kezia makes you pay for everythin' you break?" interposed the Atom.
"Yes, miss!"
There was scorn in Denis's eye; he drew a half crown from his pocket.
"I broke it, Sarah," he said gently. "Would you mind getting the new one for me? You'd bargain better than I should. Come on, Atom, everyone's asking for you."
Sheila Pat held back.
"Is the goody-goo up there, too?"
"The what?"
"The little lame boy."
"No; only his mother. Hurry up!"
They left Sarah half weeping over his magnificent kindness. Denis little knew how from that moment he was a young god—a prince in a fairy tale—a hero—to the romantic Sarah.
Up in the drawing-room a stiff little party sat nursing empty cups. In vain Mrs. Barclay tried to unstiffen it. Her eyes met Nell's, and a gleam of amusement shone in them before she discreetly veiled them beneath decorous lids.
Miss Kezia was cross. She had been taken unawares. With a queer kind of heavy hospitality, she liked to know when a visitor was coming, that she might have cakes and scones of all sorts freshly baked. To-day she had not known, and there was nothing but bread and butter and half a dozen small cakes. So she sat, stiffly disapproving, and refused to unbend.
Sheila Pat marched in, calm and cool, greeted Mrs. Barclay with her most pronounced accent, took her seat upon a chair, pulled down her skirt, and surveyed the room.
"I have a little boy not much older than you," Mrs. Barclay began pleasantly.
"Sure I'm knowin' that already."
"He wants to know you very badly."
Dead silence.
"I hope you will be friends—you and he."
The Atom wriggled on her chair; then,
"I don't care for children much, thank you; that is," her hopeless honesty impelled her, "not some children!"
Nell broke in hastily, "I have spoken to him over the wall."
"So I heard. He is rather lonely. We do not seem to know any nice young people."
Denis suggested, "Usednot to know?"
She laughed.
"I stand corrected. Well, I hope we shall soon know very well some very nice young people!" She rose to go.
"Will you come in to-morrow afternoon? Early—about three?"
"Oh, thanks—if Aunt—" Nell looked inquiringly at Miss Kezia.
"I have no objection."
"When willyoucome, Miss McAlister? It is so long since you have—"
"I have not much time for gadding about, thank you."
"Mind," Mrs. Barclay turned back to the others, "you are all to come!"
Clear and distinct spoke Sheila Pat.
"'Tis engaged I'll be, Mrs. Barclay."
"What do you mean, Sheila?" demanded Miss Kezia, frowning mightily.
"I shall be helping Sarah, thank you."
"What maggot have you got into your head now?"
"'Tisn't a maggot at all," calmly. "I wish to do it. Sarah's a very good girl—for London, that is—and she has too much work entirely."
"Sheila, when I wish you to help in the menial work of the house, I will ask you to do so. Tell Mrs. Barclay at once that you will be very glad to accept her kind invitation."
The Atom heaved a most palpable sigh.
"I will come, then, thank you," she amended her aunt's words.
"Of all the rude little grumps!" Molly attacked her later on.
"I don't care! I do erject to goody-goos!"
"Who is a goody-goo?"
"Why, that silly little Stewart, of course."
"How do you know?"
"Know, is it?" scoffed the Atom. "Hasn't he got big blue eyes and fair hair and a lame leg? Sure I know the sort!" her pig-tail jerking angrily. "And I just can't bear them, Molly O'Brien!"
"I don't see how you can tell. Denis has blue eyes—"
"Oh,Denis!" in a tone of strong contempt for Molly's lack of understanding. "There are eyes and eyes!"