d, and agreed, after much persuasion, to a compromise. She
would condescend to take up her abode under her grandfather's roof on
the condition that Judy came too. Judy was one of these appendages so
frequently to be seen in Irish cabins, there being, apparently,
scarcely any householder so poor that he or she cannot afford to
shelter some one poorer still. While there is a roof over their heads,
a potato to put into their mouths, the Irish peasants will share with
one another. Ever since Roseen could remember, Judy had been an inmate
of their home; she had helped in the small household labours, tended
Mrs. Rorke after her own fashion when she had been sick, scolded and
adored Roseen from babyhood to youth. There was not much else poor
Judy could do, except smoke her pipe when, by some lucky chance, a
"bit o' baccy" came in her way: she was not only old and lame, but
half-witted, very nearly "innocent." What Peter's feelings had been
may be guessed when invited to receive this strange-looking old
creature into his house; but Roseen had been firm, and he had finally
consented.

Whether there had been some dormant family affection in that withered
heart of his, which had sprung to life now that poor Mrs. Rorke no
longer stood between him and his own flesh and blood, or whether the
girl's obstinacy had aroused in him a corresponding desire to carry
his point, or whether, as some of the neighbours ill-naturedly said,
he thought if the fine little colleen was to go to sarvice at all, she
might as well come to him for no wages as to be airnin' from somebody
else, remains a mystery; but it is certain that in spite of the
unpleasant condition imposed by Roseen, Peter felt a curious glow of
pride and pleasure when he assisted Roseen to alight at the door of
Monavoe. Since then he had certainly grown fond of her, and was
moreover proud of her good looks and winsome ways. He had sent her to
a boarding-school, a grand convent establishment for young ladies,
where the good nuns had done their best to impart to her all that was
deemed essential for Mr. Rorke's granddaughter to learn. Roseen knew
already how to read, and could write after a fashion of her own; she
now learnt arithmetic, and could, indeed, keep her butter accounts by
dint of much counting on slim sunburnt fingers and puckering of her
pretty white forehead; but alas! all attempts to attain more elegant
accomplishments remained fruitless--Roseen was a thorough little
dun