“Yis, indade!” responded the girl.  “Lots.  And the mon brought ’em on the funniest whale barry ye iver seed.”

“On a wheel barrow!”

“Yis.  And such a whale barry!  It had a whale on each side, as I’m a livin’ sinner, mum and a cunnin’ little whale in front, cocked ’way up intil the air, thot didn’t touch nothin’ at all—­at all!  There’s no sich whale barrys as thot same in Ireland, me leddy!”

“And what did you do with the lots of things brought on this wheel barrow?” said I, now beginning to comprehend the girl.

“Put them on y’r bed, sure.”

“On my bed!” I exclaimed, in consternation.

“Sure, and didn’t I remember the last words ye spake till me?  ‘Anna,’ says ye,—­’Anna, if ony thing is sent home for me, be sure till take it carefully up stairs and lay it on me bed.’  And I did thot same.  Sure, I couldn’t have found a nicer place, if I gone the house over.”

Turning from the girl, I hurried up stairs.

It was as I had too good reason to fear.  Such a sight as met my eyes!  In the centre of my bed, with its snowy-white Marseilles covering, were piled “lots of things,” and no mistake.  Sugar, tea, cheese, coffee, soap, and various other articles, not excepting a bottle of olive oil, from the started cork of which was gently oozing a slender stream, lay in a jumbled heap; while, on a satin damask-covered chair, reposed a greasy ham.  For a moment I stood confounded.  Then, giving the bell a violent jerk, I awaited, in angry impatience, the appearance of Anna, who, in due time, after going to the street door, found her way to my chamber.

“Anna!” I exclaimed, “what, in the name of goodness, possessed you to do this?”

And I pointed to the bed.

“Sure, and ye towld me till put them on ye’s bed.”

“I told you no such thing, you stupid creature!  I said if a bonnet came, to put it on the bed.”

“Och! sorry a word did ye iver say about a bonnet, mum.  It’s the first time I iver heard ony thing about a bonnet from yer blessed lips.  And thot’s thrue.”

“Where is my bonnet, then?  Did one come home?”

“Plase, mum, and there did.  And a purty one it is, too, as iver my two eyes looked upon.”

“What did you do with it?” I enquired, with a good deal of concern.

“It’s safe in thot great mahogany closet, mum,” she replied, pointing to my wardrobe.

I stepped quickly to the “mahogany closet,” and threw open the door.  Alas! for my poor bonnet!  It was crushed in between two of Mr. Smith’s coats, and tied to a peg, by the strings, which were, of course, crumpled to a degree that made them useless.

“Too bad!  Too bad!” I murmured, as I disengaged the bonnet from its unhappy companionship with broadcloth.  As it came to the light, my eyes fell upon two dark spots on the front, the unmistakable prints of Anna’s greasy fingers.  This was too much!  I tossed it, in a moment of passion, upon the bed, where, in contact with the “lots of things,” it received its final touch of ruin from a portion of the oozing contents of the sweet oil bottle.