ened me wid
twinty horns an' as manny hind legs."

"Oh, you've got several bees in your bonnet, that's what's the matter
with you!" exclaimed Nannie.

"Is it bees, ye say? Air they loose too?" screamed Bridget, jerking
off her sunbonnet and tearing down her hair. "Is it bees as well as
cows in me hid, an' ye standin' laffin loike ter kill yersilf at the
very idee of me bein' murdered in cold blud!"

By this time her hair was distraught and her face flaming with
excitement and exertion, and altogether she so closely resembled some
avenging spirit that even Sarah Maria began to tremble before her.

As soon as Nannie could control herself she informed her that the
terrifying words she used were merely a figure of speech.

"Clothed or not clothed----" Nannie began, but Bridget burst forth:

"An' I wuldn't hev belaved that anny young leddy wid a dacent raisin'
wud use figgers of spache, widout clothes at that. It's Bridget
O'Flannigan'll see if----"

But here Nannie's screams of laughter interrupted her.

"I believe you've a brick in your bonnet as well as a bee," she
exclaimed.

This time Bridget understood, and clapping her sunbonnet (upside down)
onto her disrumpled head, she wabbled toward the house.

This would never do, so Nannie ran and planted herself in front of
her.

"Come, now, Bridget--dear Bridget, don't be mad with me," she said
coaxingly.

Bridget had come to Mrs. Lamont's when Nannie was little more than
eight years of age, and through the succeeding years of childhood and
girlhood had been her stanch friend and her confidante in many a time
of trouble.

"What shall I do with my cow? You surely will help me out!"

The fire faded from Bridget's flaming countenance, and she paused,
irresolute as to her course.

"You won't desert me, Bridget, I know!" pleaded Nannie softly.

"Sure it's not Bridget O'Flannigan will desart an orphin child; but I
make it distinct, an' ye hear me now, that I'm a respictable woman,
not given to takin' a dhrop too much or too little, an' I won't stan'
an' be insulted, an' me twilve years over from ould Oireland come
Saint Patrick's Day. An' even if I am doin' disrespictful work now,
milkin' an ould cow in which the divil has taken up his risidince, I
want yez still ter handle me character wid care."

No doubt Sarah Maria was awed by this address, or else the very
uncomplimentary manner in which she herself was alluded to startled
her into a realization of the st