“To be sure I did,” responded Mrs. McNally promptly.  “There, now, don’t be upsettin’ yourselves, girls.  Elleney didn’t know any better, she’s that innicent, poor little girl.  She won’t do it again, I’ll engage—­will ye, Elleney?  Ye see, me dear,” she added in a confidential undertone, “we do have to be very particular in an establishment like this.  ‘Twouldn’t do for me at all to go lettin’ a boy like Pat Rooney forget himself.  He’s a very decent boy, poor fellow, an’ his mother—­the Lord ha’ mercy on her!—­was a most respectable poor woman.  But he must be kept in his place, me child, an’ ye see—­”

“A-ah, m’mah, in the name of goodnsss sit down and pour out the tea,” interrupted Anna Maria impatiently.  “I’m dyin’ for me cup.  An’ sure ye haven’t brought us anythin’ at all to eat yet, Elleney.  Off with you now, an’ bring that same toast whoever made it.  The poor child’s frightened out of her wits.  Sure what harm if ye did ask Pat Rooney to help ye, itself—­ye can soon get shut of him again.  Ju, for mercy’s sake take that crabby ould face off o’ ye.  ’Pon me word ’tis enough to curdle the milk.”

Anna Maria’s own face was of the round good-humoured order.  “She took after the mother,” the neighbours said, and had certainly inherited a large share of kindliness and jollity.

“Faith!  Nanny’s right,” cried Mrs. McNally, relaxing.  “Go fetch the toast, Elleney, and give Mr. Pat Rooney his marchin’ orders at the same time.”

“What am I to say?” inquired Elleney, her eyes round with alarm above cheeks that were still crimson.

“Bid him get out of that,” returned her aunt, laughing.

Elleney took up her tray, and went away with a lagging step.  The kitchen door was wide open, and in the aperture stood Pat, flushed with his exertions, and holding triumphantly aloft an immense dish of beautifully browned toast.

“There now,” he cried jubilantly, “I’ll throuble them to put their teeth through the whole o’ that in a hurry.  Isn’t that a fine lot?  But I know they does be great aiters within there.”

“I’m very thankful to ye, Pat,” said Elleney, with a downcast face.

“Sure I’m not meanin’ to show disrespect,” resumed he, quick to note her expression, but mistaking its cause.  “It’s a powerful big family your a’nt has, first and last, and why wouldn’t they ait?  I’ll tell ye what, Miss Elleney, I’ll just stop here in the chimbley corner, an’ if they does be wantin’ any more toast I’ll have it made for them afore you can turn round.”

“Oh no, Pat,” cried Elleney in alarm.  “That wouldn’t do at all.  Me a’nt bid me tell ye—­me a’nt said—­”

“Well, what did she say, miss, dear?” inquired Pat, as she faltered.

“She wasn’t best pleased,” stammered the girl.  “She thought I done wrong lettin’ you help me; she bid me give ye marchin’ orders”—­catching at what seemed to her the least offensive manner of conveying her aunt’s behest.