and a self-confident, good-humored smile, "though mostly
I'm called 'Stashie--and I'm just over from th' old country to my Aunt
Bridgie that washed for you till the rheumatism got her, and when she
told me about what you'd done for her and Patsy--how you'd sent off that
ould divil where she couldn't torment Patsy no more, and him as glad of
it as Aunt Bridgie herself, just like she knew he would be, and what an
awful time you do be havin' with gurrls, and a baby comin', I says to
myself and to Aunt Bridgie, 'There's the lady I'm goin' to worrk for if
she'll lave me do ut,' and Aunt Bridgie was readin' to me in the paper
about your gran' dinner party last night and I says to her and to
myself, 'There'll be a main lot of dishes to be washed th' day and I'd
better step over and begin.'"

She pulled off the shawl that had covered her head of flaming hair, and
smiled broadly at her two interlocutors, who remained motionless,
staring at her in an ecstasy of astonishment.

As she looked into Lydia's pale face and reddened eyes, the smile died
away. She clasped her big hands with a pitying gesture, and cried out a
Gaelic exclamation of compassion with a much-moved accent; then, "It's
time I was here," she told herself. She wiped her eyes, passed the back
of her hand over her nose with a sniff, picked up the dishcloth from the
floor, and advanced upon a pile of dirty silver. Her massive bulk shook
the floor.

"I don't know no more about housework than Casey's pig," she told them
cheerfully, "but Aunt Bridgie says in America they don't none of the
gurrls know nothing. They just hold their jobs because their ladies know
they couldn't do no better to change, and maybe I can learn. I want to
help."

She emptied the silver into the dishwater with a splash, and set to
work, turning her broad face to them to say familiarly over her
shoulder to Lydia, "Now, just you go and lie down and send the little
ould gentleman about his business. You need to be quiet--for the sake of
the one that's coming; and don't you forget I'm here. I'm--_here_!"

Dr. Melton drew Lydia away silently, and not until they had put two
rooms between them and the kitchen did they dare face each other. With
that first interchange of looks came peals of laughter--Lydia's light,
ringing laughter--to hear which the doctor offered up heartfelt
thanksgivings.

"That is your fate, Lydia," he said finally, wiping his eyes.

"Don't you just love her?" Lydia cried. "