e sister used to frequent it,
for Andy was very ingenious in making chairs, tables, and other
furniture for doll houses, and little Sophy thought him the nicest man
in the world. Maggie was very cool and repellent to him, with little
spells of relenting. Sometimes Andy felt himself so much snubbed that
he would leave after a five minutes' call, in which event Maggie Byrne
was sure to relax a little at the door, and Sylvia or Sophy was almost
certain to find her in tears afterward.

Andy could not, perhaps, have defined his feelings toward Margaret. He
could not resist the attraction of the kitchen, for was not Maggie his
old playmate and the sister of Dora? Sure, there was no harm at all in
a fellow's goin' to see, just once a week, the sister of his
swateheart, when the ocean kept him from seein' his swateheart herself.
But if Andy had been a man accustomed to analyze his feelings he might
have inquired how it came that he liked his swateheart's sister better
even than his swateheart herself.

One evening he had a letter from Dora, and he thought to cheer Margaret
with good news from home. But she would not be cheered.

"Now what's the matter, Mag?" Andy said coaxingly. "Don't that fellow
in Larne write to ye?"

"What fellow in Larne?" demanded Margaret with asperity.

"Why, him that used to be so swate when ye was a-workin' in the mill."

"Who told you that?"

"Oh, now, you needn't try to kape it from me! Don't you think I knew
all about it? Do you think Dora wouldn't tell me, honey? Don't I know
you was engaged to him before you left the mill at Larne? Has he gone
an' desaved you now, Maggie? If he has, I don't wonder you're cross."

"Andy, that isn't true. I never had any b'y at Larne, at all."

"Now, what's the use denying it? That's always the way with you girls
about such things."

"Andy Doyle, do you go out of this kitchen, and don't you never come
back. I never desaved you in my life, and I won't have nobody say that
I did."

A conflict of feeling had made Margaret irritable, and Andy was the
most convenient object of wrath in the absence of Dora. Andy started
slowly out through the hall; there he turned about, and said:

"Hold a bit, my poor Mag. Let me git me thoughts together. It's me's
been desaved. If it hadn't 'a' been fer that fellow down at Larne there
wouldn't never 'a' been anything betwixt me and Dora. And now----"

"Don't you say no more, Andy. Dora's a child, and she wanted you. Don'