he house when, thanks to Bridget's excellent
plain cooking. Sir Denis forgot he had such a thing as a liver, and had
no more of the gouty attacks which made his temper east-windy instead of
west-windy. During those peaceful years he forgot to be choleric. He was
overflowing with kindness and helpfulness to those about him, and took a
paternal interest in the affairs of his household.

"Sure," Pat would say to Bridget, "'tis for marrying us he'd be, if he
knew how it was with us, same as he married off Rose to the postman and
gave them a cottage; and that new girl isn't up to Rose's work yet, nor
ever will be, unless I'm mistaken."

"'Twould be a sin to take advantage of him," Bridget would answer. "And
we're both young enough to wait a bit, Pat. There'll be new ways when
Miss Nelly marries Sir Robin. Maybe 'tis going to live with them he'd
be."

"He never will, so long as her Ladyship's alive," said Pat,
emphatically.

"Then maybe we'd be havin' him for a furnished lodger," said Bridget.
"I'd rather it 'ud be something in the country. Why wouldn't you be his
coachman as well, Pat? Sure, anything you don't know about horses isn't
worth the knowin'."

"True for you. We might have a little lodge," said Pat.

They were really the quietest and most peaceful years--unless the
Dowager happened to be in town. Then something went dreadfully wrong
with the General's temper, and he would come roaring downstairs and
along the corridors like a winter storm. The servants' hall used to take
a tender interest in those bad days.

"Somebody ought to spake to her," said Bridget. "Supposin' the gout was
to go to his heart! He was bad enough after the last time she was here."

"She'll never lave hoult of him," said Pat, solemnly. "The sort of her
Ladyship houlds on the tighter the more you wriggle. He's preparing a
quare bed of repentance for himself, so he is, the langwidge he's usin'
about her all over the house. By-and-by he'll be rememberin' she's Sir
Gerald's widdy, and'll be askin' me ashamed-like, 'I hope I didn't say
too much about her Ladyship in my timper, Pat. She's a tryin' woman, a
very tryin' woman. I'm afraid I'm apt to forget now an' agin that she's
my dear brother's widdy, so I am.'"

Pat's imitation of Sir Denis was really admirable.

"'Tis a pity he doesn't run her out of the house," said Bridget,
"instead of lettin' her bother the heart out of him like that."

"He couldn't say a rough word to a woman, not if