r Terry's sake I did not," she said; and went out of the
room.

"Mr. Kenny wishes to see your Ladyship," said a servant, meeting her in
the hall. Patsy, perhaps by reason of his friendly aloofness, had come
to be treated with unusual respect by the other servants. "He is at
the hall-door. He would not come inside."

She found Patsy, playing with Shot's son and daughter--they were the
fourth generation from "Ould Shot" on the gravel sweep.

"Come in, Patsy," she said, and led the way into an octagonal room, lit
by a skylight overhead and walled around with ancient books which were
very seldom taken from their shelves.

"Sit down," she said, "and tell me what is troubling you."

Patsy sat down on the extreme edge of one of the chairs, which were
upholstered in scarlet damask. He looked up at her with blinking eyes
of worship, like the eyes of the dogs. The room, painted white above
the bookshelves, was full of light. He turned his cap about in his
hands. Obviously there was something more here than the business on
which he usually consulted Lady O'Gara.

"'Tis," he began, "a little bit of a woman, an' a child, no bigger nor
a robin an' as wake as a wran...."

With this opening he began the story of the woman and child, who had
come with the disreputable person the afternoon before. It appeared
that Mr. Baker had deserted his wife and son, flinging them the pots
and pans with a scornful generosity. He had apparently arrived at the
possession of money some way or other, and overtaking them on the road
at some considerable distance away he had bidden them, with threats, to
take themselves out of his sight, since he had no further use for them.

"He was full of drink," Patsy said, looking down. "Your Ladyship, his
tratement of them was something onnatural. She said she'd run away
from him often, but he'd always found her when she was doin' well an'
earnin' for herself an' the child. The people she lived with were
often kind and ready to stand by her, but sure, as she says, the
kindest will get tired out. He'd broken the spirit in her, maybe, for
she showed me his marks on the poor child. She said nothin' about
herself, but I could guess, the poor girl! The man that could lay his
heavy hand on a woman or a child is a black villain. I wouldn't be
comparin' him to the dumb bastes, for they've nature in them. The poor
little woman, she's dacent. It would break your heart to see how thin
she is an' how f