“I left one,” she replied, “on the back of your chair—­an’ there it is, sure.”

“Ay, achora, it’s you that laves nothing undone that ought to be done; an’ so it is here, sure enough.”

“Why, then, Gerald,” asked Tom M’Mahon, “in the name o’ wonder what makes you stick to the meal instead o’ the soap when you’re washin’ yourself?”

“Throth, an’ I ever will, Tom, an’ for a good raison—­becaise it’s best for the complexion.”

The unconscious simplicity with which Cavanagh uttered this occasioned loud laughter, from which Kathleen herself was unable to refrain.

“By the piper, Gerald,” said M’Mahon, “that’s the best thing I h’ard this month o’ Sundays.  Why, it would be enough for one o’ your daughters to talk about complexion.  Maybe you paint too—­ha! ha! ha!”

Hanna now put in her head, and asked “what is the fun?” but immediately added, “Kathleen, here’s a message for you.”

“For me!” said Kathleen; “what is it?”

“Here’s Peety Dhu’s daughter, an’ she says she has something to say to you.”

“An’ so Rosha Burke,” said Mrs. Cavanagh, “has taken her to live wid them; I hope it’ll turn out well for the poor thing.”

“Will you come out, Kathleen,” said Hanna, again peeping in; “she mustn’t tell it to anyone but yourself.”

“If she doesn’t she may keep it, then,” replied Kathleen.  “Tell her I have no secrets,” she added, “nor I won’t have any of her keeping.”

“You must go in,” said Hanna, turning aside and addressing the girl—­“you must go in an’ spake to her in the house.”

“She can tell us all about the robbery, anyway,” observed Mr. Cavanagh.  “Come in, a-colleen—­what are you afeard of?”

“I have a word to say to her,” said the girl—­“a message to deliver; but it must be to nobody but herself.  Whisper,” she proceeded, approaching Kathleen, and about to address her.

Kathleen immediately rose, and, looking on the messenger, said, “Who is it from, Nanny?”

“I mustn’t let them know,” replied the girl, looking at the rest.

“Whatever it is, Or whoever it’s from, you must spake it out then, Nanny,” continued Kathleen.

“It’s from Hycy Burke, then,” replied the girl; “he wants to know if you have any answer for him?”

“Tell Hycy Burke,” replied Kathleen, “that I have no answer for him; an’ that I’ll thank him to send me no more messages.”

“Hut tut! you foolish girl,” exclaimed her mother, rising up and approaching her daughter; “are you mad, Kathleen?”

“What’s come over you,” said the father, equally alarmed; “are you beside yourself, sure enough, to send Hycy Burke sich a message as that?  Sit down, ma colleen, sit down, an’ never mind her—­don’t think of bringin’ him back sich a message.  Why, then,” he added, “in the name o’ mercy, Kathleen, what has come over you, to trate a respectable young man like.  Hycy Burke in that style?”