e pans, and
all the gridirons, though for the matter of that there has been very
little to cook on them." Then Ada asked the girl whether she intended
to come back to her old place.

"If I'm let," said the girl, bursting into tears.

"Where are the shoes and stockings?" said Ada.

But the girl only wept.

"Of course you shall come back, shoes or no shoes. I suppose
times have been too hard with you at home to think much of
shoes or stockings. Since your poor cousin was shot in Galway
court-house,"--for Feemy was a cousin of the tribe of Carrolls,--"I
fear it hasn't gone very well with you all." But to this Feemy had
only answered by renewed sobs. She had, however, from that moment
taken up her residence as of yore in the old house, and had gone
about her business just as though no boycotting edict had been
pronounced against Castle Morony.

And gradually the other servants had returned, falling back into
their places almost without a word spoken. One boy, who had in former
days looked after the cows, absolutely did come and drive them in to
be milked one morning without saying a word.

"And who are you, you young deevil?" said Peter to him.

"I'm just Larry O'Brien."

"And what business have you here?" said Peter. "How many months ago
is it since last year you took yourself off without even a word said
to man or woman? Who wants you back again now, I wonder?"

The boy, who had grown half-way to a man since he had taken his
departure, made no further answer, but went on with the milking of
his cows.

And the old cook came back again from Galway, though she came after
the writing of a letter which must have taken her long to compose,
and the saying of many words.

"Honoured Miss," the letter went, "I've been at Peter Corcoran's
doing work any time these twelve months. And glad I've been to find
a hole to creep into. But Peter Corcoran's house isn't like Castle
Morony, and so I've told him scores of times. But Peter is one
of them Landleaguers, and is like to be bruk', horse, foot, and
dragoons, bekaise he wouldn't serve the gentry. May the deevil go
along with him, and with his pollytiks. Sure you know, miss, they
wouldn't let me stay at Castle Morony. Wasn't one side in pollitiks
the same as another to an old woman like me, who only wants to 'arn
her bit and her sup? I don't care the vally of a tobacco-pipe for
none of them now. So if the squire would take me back again, may God
bless him for iver and iv