r niece. "Nanny, you ought to
go and see to him."

"Do, Nanny," said the mother. "He was askin' for you."

"Then he may ask away," retorted Nanny. "Do ye remember the story o'
the Connaught woman who said 'Purse, will ye have him?' when the
fellow made up to her for her money. My purse says 'No.' Let him try
Juliana. Is that the bar bell ringing?"

"Aye, it is; ye'd best be off an' see what's wanted. Bridget and Mary
is so taken up with that young fellow I declare they don't know
whether they're on their heads or their heels."

"Aye, indeed," cried Anna Maria with her jolly laugh. "I seen them
prancin' round him like a couple o' goats, as old as they are."

She vanished, and Mrs. McNally also went away.

Some time later Pat Rooney entered the shop, bearing a large tray of
newly-baked loaves. His face wore a solemn, not to say sulky,
expression, and he looked neither to right nor to left. Before he had
finished piling up the loaves in their allotted corner, however, a
suspicious sound attracted his attention, and he turned reluctantly
round. A small figure was crouching in the darkest angle of the "dress
department," with its apron over its head.

"Is it cryin' ye are?" said Pat sternly.

For all answer Elleney sobbed afresh.

The young man drew nearer, and Elleney tilted up one elbow as a hint
to him to keep his distance.

"Bedad, ye have no right to be cryin'," remarked Pat in a withering
tone. "It was the other way wid ye altogether when I looked in through
the door a while ago, on my way back from me dinner. If I hadn't seen
it wid me own two eyes," he added with scornful severity, "I wouldn't
have believed it was you that was in it at all."

Elleney jerked down her apron, and looked up with eyes that blazed
beneath their swollen lids.

"How dar' ye speak to me that way?" she cried.

Pat snorted: "To be sure I've no right to say a word at all," he
returned, with wrathful irony. "A poor fellow like meself has no call
to have any feelin's--but ye might have knocked me down with a feather
when I seen that strange chap with his arm about your waist."

"Oh Pat!" gasped Elleney, and overcome with shame and woe, she burst
into fresh tears, and buried her face in the unresponsive folds of a
linsey-woolsey petticoat which dangled from a peg beside her.

Pat immediately melted.

"Amn't I the terrible ould ruffian to go upsettin' ye that way!" he
groaned remorsefully. "There now, Miss Elleney, don't mind me.