out to each other.  Kathleen and her aunt were no exception to the universal rule.  Kathleen had never been from home before, and Aunt Katie had things to tell her about every person, man and woman, old and young, on the Carrigrohane estate.  But when all the news had been told, when the exact number of dogs had been recounted, the cats and kittens described, the fowls, the goats, the donkeys, the horses, the cows enumerated, it came to be Aunt Katie’s turn to listen.

“Now my love, tell me, and be quick, about all you have been doing.  And first and foremost, how do you like school?”

“Not at all, aunty; and I’m not learning anything.”

“My dear, that is sad hearing; and your poor father pining his heart out for the want of you.”

“I never wished to go to school,” said Kathleen.

“You will have to bear it now, my pet, unless you have real cause for complaint.  They’re not unkind to you, acushla, are they?”

“Oh, not really, Aunt Katie; but they’re such dull people.  The teachers are dull.  I don’t mind Miss Spicer so much; she’s the music teacher.  As to Miss Ravenscroft, I have never even seen her.”

“And who is she, darling?”

“The head-mistress, and no end of a toff.”

“What’s a toff, dear?”

“It’s a slang word they use in stupid old England.”

“I don’t admire it, my love.  Don’t you demean yourself by bringing words of that sort home to Carrigrohane.”

“Not I. I shan’t be a minute in the old place before the salt breezes will blow England out of my memory.  Ah! it’s I who pine to be home again.”

“It will broaden your mind, Kathleen, and improve you.  And some of the English people are very nice entirely,” said Miss O’Flynn, making this last statement in what she considered a widely condescending manner.  “So your are not learning much?”

“I am getting on with my music.  Perhaps I’ll settle down to work.  I should not loathe it so much if it was not for Alice.”

“Ah! she’s the daughter of Mrs. Tennant.  I rather took to Mrs. Tennant, the creature!  She seemed to have a kind-hearted sort of face.”

“She’s as right as rain, aunty; and so are the two boys.  But Alice—­she is—­”

“What, darling?”

“A prig, aunty.  Detestable!”

“I never took to that sort,” said Miss O’Flynn.  “Wouldn’t you like some oyster-patties and some plumcake to munch while you are talking, deary?”

“I shouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll ring and order them.”

A servant appeared.  Miss O’Flynn gave orders which resulted in a rich and most unwholesome supper being placed upon the table.  Kathleen and her aunt ate while they talked.

“And what occupies you, love, at all at all?” said Miss O’Flynn as she ate her second oyster-patty.  “From your description it seems to be a sort of death in life, that town of Merrifield.”

“I have to make my own diversions, aunty, and they are sprightly and entertaining enough.  Don’t you remember when I told you to have all those little hearts made for me?”