Sure 'tis a pair of ye
that's there. I'm out wid ye."

"But the griddle cake, Hannah?"

"Let Betsy over at Mrs. Asshlin's make griddle cake for ye. Maybe she
wouldn't put up wid Masther Larry as aisy as me."

"Of course Betsy would make a griddle cake at any time," said Clodagh
promptly; "only we couldn't eat it--after yours."

For a moment Hannah made no response; then she gave another disdainful
whisk to her apron and attacked the saucepan with renewed force.

Clodagh said nothing, but took a step forward. Her cheeks were bright
and her eyes danced with mischief and amusement. As her foot touched
the paving stones of the yard, Hannah raised her head.

"I suppose 'twill be at wan ye'll be wantin' the lunch?" she said in a
suddenly lowered and mollified voice; and Clodagh responded with a
laugh of triumph and delight.

Outside in the sunshine of the yard, she laughed again.

"Hannah is an old duck!" she said. "She is always getting as cross as
two sticks, and then forgetting all about it. Nobody could help teasing
her. But where's Larry gone to? Larry! Larry!"

There was a pause, a stamping of horse's hoofs, and the sound of a
voice whispering affectionate injunctions to an unseen animal; then
young Laurence Asshlin emerged from the stables, leading his chestnut
cob.

He was a well-made, long-limbed boy of fourteen, with skin as smooth
and eyes as clear as Clodagh's own.

"Hullo, Clo!" he exclaimed. "That was a straight shot, wasn't it? Was
she mad?"

"Pretty mad," responded Clodagh. "This is Mr. Milbanke. He came last
night."

Young Asshlin eyed the stranger frankly and without embarrassment.

"You're not at the meet?" he said with involuntary surprise. "I'd be
there, only mother doesn't let me hunt yet. She thinks I'd break my
neck or something," he laughed. "But I'll go to every meet within
twenty miles when I'm a man," he added. "There's nothing as good as
hunting--except sailing. Are you much of a sailor?"

Milbanke looked back into the bright, fearless eyes and healthy,
spirited face, and again a touch of aloofness, of age, damped him.
There was a buoyancy in this boy and girl, a zest, an enthusiasm
outside which he stood the undeniable alien.

"Yes, I am fond of the sea," he responded; "but probably not as you are
fond of it."

Try as he might to be natural and pleasant, his speech sounded stilted,
his words staid.

The boy looked at him doubtfully.

"Didn't know there were two ways of d