actory, as I own that
of the north-west winds and James's Bay was to me; it is the fault of
science. I'm afraid you'll not answer another question which I have,
since I am so ungrateful as not to accept everything you say with
becoming reverence.'

'Name your question.'

'Why is every fourth day milder than the others? Why may we reckon with
almost certainty on a degree of soft weather to-morrow?'

'Those are the tertian intervals, and nobody understands them.'

'Concise and candid, if it doesn't make me wiser; but I'm compensated
for that in finding something of which you are equally ignorant with
myself, Mr. Holt.'

Remarks of a more superficial character were extorted by the severity of
the weather from the inmates of the kitchen.

'Arrah, Miss Libby asthore, wor ye able to sleep one wink last night wid
the crakling of the threes? I niver heerd'--

'Sartin sure I was,' replied the rubicund damsel, as she moved briskly
about her work. She had a peculiarity of wearing very short skirts,
lest they should impede her progress; but once that Andy ventured a
complimentary joke on her ankles, he met with such scathing scorn that
he kept aloof from the subject in future, though often sorely tempted.

'Nothen ever kep me waking,' asseverated the Yankee girl with perfect
truth. 'Now, young man, jest git out o' my way; warm yar hands in yar
hair, if you've a mind teu--it's red enough, I guess.'

'Throth an' I wish I could take your advice, Miss; or if you'd give me a
few sparks of yer own hot timper, I needn't ever come up to the hearth
at all at all.'

'Thar, go 'long with you for a consaited sot-up chap, an' bring in a
couple of armfuls of wood,' said the lady. 'I reckon you'd best take
care of your hair settin' fire to the logs, Mister Handy,' she added
with a chuckle.

Linda entered the kitchen on some household business, and Mr. Callaghan
was too respectful to retort in her presence. But this is a specimen of
the odd sort of sparring which Arthur chose to consider courtship, and
to rally both parties about.

''Deed then I hope 'tisn't the likes of a crooked stick of her kind I'd
be afther bringin' home at long last,' Andy would say, wielding his axe
with redoubled vigour.

'I guess I ain't agoin' jest to be sich a soft un as to take the care of
_him_ for nothen',' the lady would say, flouncing about her kitchen and
laying ineffable emphasis on the last word. Whence it would appear that
the feud was irreconc