ly ceasing her song and
gazing at him with a startled look. This was Roseen, a tall and comely
lassie of seventeen, in whose pretty, saucy face, however, and clear
blue eyes, there still remained much of the child. Her mother had died
when she was about fifteen, and, to the astonishment of every one who
knew him, Peter Rorke had announced his intention of adopting his
grandchild. He had never had any objections to the girl herself, he
declared loftily; she was well enough in every way, and his own son's
child; he could never put up with the mother, it was true--a common
little servant girl that his son had no right to have been speaking
to, much less to be goin' an' gettin' married to. Peter would never
bring himself to recognise him at all after he had demeaned himself
that way, and as long as the wife lived he couldn't be expected to
take any notice of the child; but now that she was dead an' gone to
her own place, wherever that might be, he wasn't goin' to let his
granddaughter go out to sarvice. She was Miss Rorke, and her place was
at Monavoe, where all the Rorkes had lived and died for more
generations than any one cared to count.

When, however, he had, with a good deal of pompous benevolence, driven
up on his outside-car to fetch Miss Rorke from the tumbled-down cabin
which had been hitherto the only home she had known, that young lady,
instead of being properly grateful, and impressed by her relative's
condescension, had displayed a spirit of independence, and indeed
stubbornness, which the worthy old gentleman found as bewildering as
mortifying. He had never taken any notice of them before, she had
averred; he had let her father starve, and her mother work herself to
death. Roseen was not going to be beholden to him now--she'd earn her
own bread, so she would, an' if he thought shame of his grandchild
goin' to sarvice, she was glad of it, so she was, an' she'd make sure
an' tell every one the way he was afther thratin' them. Peter had
rubbed his lantern-jaw and glanced askance at the determined little
maiden who stood facing him, her blue eyes flashing through her tears,
and every line of face and figure betokening resolution. First, he had
been puzzled, then angry, finally he had had recourse to entreaty,
feeling in his heart that he could never look the neighbours in the
face again if the story got about that this chit had "got the better
of him that way." At length Roseen had suffered herself to be
softene