rls in their print frocks,
and all the shining, clean utensils.

The walk to and from the Creamery was most delightful, especially those
May days when there were such drifts of flowers and the wood was full of
bluebells, and little white and blue wild anemones and harebells and
sweet woodruff.

Nothing could well be more fragrant than the wood in those days of early
summer.

It was a place in which the trees were of the light and springing
variety with slender, pale trunks, but high overhead a mass of feathery
leaves made a roof against the sky.

I have often sheltered in the wood from a heavy shower and not received
a drop; yet it was suffused through the sunshiny hours with a soft
goldenness. Below the trees was only undergrowth and the grass sown
thickly with flowers. The path went so straight through it that as you
entered by the stile at one end you saw far before you the arch of light
over the stile that took you on to the road at the other end.

Occasionally my godmother was at the Creamery, working away with the
rest, but she had so much to do of many kinds that she could not be
looked for regularly.

In a little while I was very much at home among the girls, who at first
were shy of me. If I could have gone to the Creamery at Araglin without
their knowing that I was Bawn Devereux, the young lady at the big house,
I would have enjoyed it, but that was not possible.

However, they soon forgot to be afraid of me, and laughed and chattered
among themselves, very little deterred by my presence, except for giving
me a shy glance now and again. They were most polite and gentle with me,
and would help me if they saw me lifting a heavy crock of milk, with a
"By your leave, Miss Bawn," which was very pleasant.

I used to listen to their simple talk after they had forgotten their awe
of me, and smile and sigh to myself. It was often of lovers, and they
rallied each other about this or that swain; and sometimes it was of
their fortunes, which were being built up by tiny sums out of much
poverty, so that their milk and roses, their bright eyes and satin heads
might be gilt for their cold lovers. But I never heard anything Lady St.
Leger would not wish me to hear; indeed, the talk those summer days was
in keeping with the freshness and sweetness of the world about us.

One day that we were butter-making a party of visitors came in to see
the Creamery, as sometimes happened. I was washing the butter which lay
befor