, the comparative rank of the Irish at
home and those in America, and the standing of the domestics in Castle
Moyna from the point of experience and travel. Inwardly Judy had a
profound respect for domestics in the service of a countess, and looked
to find them as far above herself as a countess is above the rest of the
world. She would have behaved humbly among the servants of Castle Moyna,
had not their airs betrayed them for an inferior grade.

"These Americans," said the butler with his nose in the air.

"As if ye knew anythin' about Americans," said Judy promptly. "Have ye
ever thraveled beyant Donegal, me good little man?"

"It wasn't necessary, me good woman."

"Faith, it's yerself 'ud be blowin' about it if ye had. An' d'ye think
people that thraveled five thousan' miles to spind a few dollars on yer
miserable country wud luk at the likes o' ye? Keep yer criticisms on
these Americans in yer own buzzum. It's not becomin' that an ould
gossoon shud make remarks on Mrs. Dillon, the finest lady in New York,
an' the best dhressed at this minnit in all Ireland. Whin ye've
thraveled as much as I have ye can have me permission to talk on what ye
have seen."

"The impidence o' some people," said the cook with a loud and scornful
laugh.

"If ye laughed that way in New York," said Judy, "ye'd be sint to the
Island for breaking the public peace. A laugh like that manes no
increase o' wages."

"The Irish in New York are allowed to live there I belave," said a pert
housemaid with a simper.

"Oh, yes, ma'am, an' they are also allowed to sind home the rint o'
their houses to kape the poor Irish from starvin', an' to help the lords
an' ladies of yer fine castles to kape the likes o' yees in a job."

"'Twas always a wondher to me," said the cook to the housemaid, as if no
other was present, "how these American bigbugs wid their inilligant ways
ever got as far as the front door o' the Countess."

"I can tell ye how Mrs. Dillon got in so far that her fut is on the neck
of all o' yez this minnit," said Judy. "If she crooked her finger at ye
this hour, ye'd take yer pack on yer back an' fut it over to yer
father's shanty, wid no more chance for another place than if ye wor in
Timbuctoo. The Countess o' Skibbereen kem over to New York to hould a
concert, an' to raise money for the cooks an' housemaids an' butlers
that were out of places in Donegal. Well, she cudn't get a singer, nor
she couldn't get a hall, nor she cudn't s