Mademoiselle remembered the Rue de la Paix, and smiled to herself at the
thought of the shops in the Irish village, but she said honestly enough
that she would enjoy the expedition; for would not Bridgie O'Shaughnessy
be her companion, and did she not appear sweeter and more attractive
with every moment that passed? Nearly an hour had elapsed since
breakfast began, and still she sat behind the urn, smiling brilliantly
at each fresh laggard, and looking as unruffled as if she had nothing to
do but attend to his demands! It was the quaintest meal Mademoiselle
had ever known, and seemed as if it would never come to an end, for just
as she was expecting a general rise the Major would cry, "What about a
fresh brew of tea? I could drink another cup if I were pressed," and
presto! it took on a new lease of life. Last of all Pixie made her
appearance, to be invited to a seat on each knee, and embraced with a
fervour which made Mademoiselle realise more fully than ever what the
child must have suffered during those weeks of suspicion and coldness.

"How's my ferret?" she inquired, with her mouth full of toast, selected
from her father's plate; and Pat seized the occasion to deliver his
outstanding account.

"Grown out of knowledge! Eightpence halfpenny you owe me now. I had to
put on another farthing a week because his appetite grew so big. I knew
you would rather pay more than see him suffer. And the guinea-pig died.
There's twopence extra for funeral expenses. We put him in the orchard
beside the dogs, and made a headstone out of your old slate. It's a
rattling good idea, because, don't you see, you can write your own
inscription!"

"If it was my own slate, and I am to make up the inscription, I don't
see why I should pay!" reasoned Pixie, with a business sharpness which
sent her father into fits of delighted laughter, though it left Pat
obstinately firm.

"Man's time!" he said stolidly. "That's what costs nowadays. You look
at any bill, and you'll find the labour comes to ten times as much as
the material. You needn't grudge the poor thing its last resting-place.
He was a good guinea-pig to you."

"I don't care how much I owe, for I have no money to pay with," returned
Pixie, unconsciously echoing her father's financial principles. "Give
Pat a shilling, please, Major, for taking care of my animals while I was
away." And that gentleman promptly threw a coin across the table.

"I wish my animals were as