Tears were actually twinkling in the old man’s narrow eyes, so much aggrieved did he feel himself to be.  Roseen began to cry too.  “It’s me that has me heart broke,” she sobbed.  “How can I go marryin’ Mr. Quinn wid his ugly red face, an’ him an ould widower an’ cross-eyed into the bargain?  Sure, if it was anything else now—­” A burst of woe interrupted her utterance.

“Me child,” said Peter impressively, “I know more what’s for your good nor you do yourself; but don’t distress yourself too much, alanna:  Mr. Quinn says he does not mind waitin’ as long as you like, so we’ll say no more about it for a while.”

“O—­o—­o—­oh!” groaned Roseen.

Peter prevented further lamentations by assuring her, with various affectionate pats on the arm, that he knew she would never go annoyin’ her poor ould grandfather, but they’d say no more about it, for a bit anyhow.  He withdrew, leaving Roseen still sobbing amid the fragments of a broken milk-pan, and perhaps the ruins of a castle in the air.

Presently, however, she dried her eyes, and, being a methodical person, set to work to repair the disorder around her.  When the broken crockery was removed, the cream wiped up, and the remaining butter rolled into shape, she went out, closing the dairy door after her and, giving a hasty glance to right and to left, made her way swiftly across the “haggard” and down a grassy lane beyond, to a large field, where a man was to be seen leisurely assembling together a troop of cows.

Roseen ran quickly across the grass towards him, stopping as soon as she perceived that he had caught sight of her, and beckoning to him mysteriously.

“Come here, Mike!” she cried softly, as he hastened towards her, “I’ve something to be tellin’ ye.”

Mike quickened his pace.  He was a tall young fellow, but slender, with an honest, good-humoured face.  Without being handsome, there was something attractive about him—­an alertness, a vigour in the well-knit limbs, a candour and kindliness in the expression of the open face, a tenderness, moreover, in the blue eyes as they rested on Roseen—­which would seem to account for the fact that these former playfellows were now lovers.

Roseen looked piteously at him, as he halted beside her, gazing with alarm at the trace of tears which still remained on her face.

“Me grandfather wants me to get married to Mr. Quinn,” she announced briefly.

“God bless us!” ejaculated Mike, his cheeks growing pale beneath their tan.  “What did ye say, alanna?”

“I said I wouldn’t,” answered Roseen.

“That’s me brave girl!  I declare ye’re afther givin’ me such a fright, I don’t know whether I am on me head or on me heels.  Was he goin’ to murther ye for that?”

“He was at first,” replied the girl, “and then he began sayin’—­Oh dear, oh dear, me heart’s broke!” She was sobbing now violently.

“Sure, what matther what he says?” cried Mike, much concerned.  “Ye have no call to be frettin’ that way; let him say what he likes, bad luck to him!  Sure, ye won’t be havin’ Mr. Quinn, Roseen, will ye?”