“An’ I never see you, Miss Elleney,” responded Pat Rooney gallantly, “without bein’ put in mind of another kind o’ flower.  Sure, you look the very same as a rose to-day.”

“Not at all,” laughed Elleney, blushing, but quite frank and unconcerned; “I wouldn’t ask to be thought aiqual to anything so grand as that.  A daisy maybe, or—­”

“Elleney!” called a shrill voice from some distant region. “Elleney! We are all famished entirely.  Girl alive, do ye forget it’s your week for the breakfast?  I never heard the like!  We’ve been waitin’ this half-hour.”

“Laws,” ejaculated Elleney under her breath, and with a conscience-stricken face.  “I didn’t forget; but sure I didn’t know what o’clock it was, an’ there’s the eggs to boil an’ all.  Me cousin Juliana ‘ull be murderin’ me.  I’m just bringin’ it, Ju,” she called back apprehensively.  “And goodness only knows if the kettle ’ull be boilin’, itself,” she added in a distracted undertone, “an’ I’m afther forgetting my big aperon upstairs, an’ if I go an’ black my best dress me a’nt ‘ull be the death o’ me.”

“Aisy now, don’t be tormentin’ yourself that way,” cried Pat soothingly.  “Sure I’ll just go along wid ye into the kitchen, an’ if I don’t have that kettle bilin’ in next to no time my name’s not Pat Rooney.  It’s me that’s used to fires—­ye’ll see how I’ll blow up yours for ye, miss.  There now, wasn’t it by the greatest good luck I looked in this mornin’ to pick up my pipe that I left down below in the bakehouse?  Cheer up, Miss Elleney—­we’ll not be keepin’ them long waitin’ for their breakfasts now.”

Even while speaking the young baker had preceded the girl into the kitchen, possessed himself of the bellows, and blown up the fire; he now deftly dropped an entire basketful of eggs into a saucepan, and, with a large loaf in one hand and a knife in the other, began with almost incredible speed to cut off thick rounds.

“I suppose ye have the cloth laid?” he inquired presently.

“Me cousin Henerietta does that; I only has the breakfast itself to get, an’ there’s not much trouble in that, on’y I’m such a slowcoach, an’ someway—­I don’t know how it was—­my wits went wool-gatherin’ this mornin’.”

“Well, I’ll tell ye what, miss; if ye’ll wet the tay an’ pop the pot down on the hob, the eggs ‘ull be done, an’ by the time ye have them brought in the bread ’ull be toasted illigant.  Herself won’t know ye, the way ye’ll have got up the breakfast so quick.”

“I’m very thankful to ye, Pat,” said Elleney gratefully.  “I’m sure I don’t know what in the world I’d have done without ye.  But it’s too bad to be givin’ ye all that trouble.”

“Not at all, miss; no trouble at all.  Sure I wouldn’t have it on me conscience for you to be roastin’ that lovely face off o’ yourself at this terrible hot fire.  The egg-cups is there on the shelf behind ye—­I can see them from here.  There now, sure ye have it all grand—­wait till I open the door for ye.  Now I’ll have the loveliest lot o’ toast ready for ye when ye come back.  That thray’s too heavy for ye entirely—­it’s a poor case altogether that I haven’t got another pair o’ hands.”