The pigs and geese pressed hospitably round the visitors as they walked up the path, and when they reached the half-door the hen flew off with a loud skwawk of expostulation. Miss Usher gave a genteel little cough--an ineffectual signal, for the room within seemed dim and empty. Presently she supplemented the cough with a timid “Ahem! Is _any_ one at home?” No reply. Brother and sister then with one consent peered into the big flagged kitchen. Bacon in solid flitches hung from the rafters. On the well-varnished dresser a lean white cat sat comfortably lapping from a large pan of new milk. The fire was low, but on a girdle on the embers a large soda cake was baking--and burning. Crouched over the fire on a three-legged stool sat a slender, auburn-haired young woman, deeply engrossed in a somewhat tattered volume. Cough and speech, cat or hens, were alike indifferent to her, for at the moment she was living in another world, far away from this gloomy kitchen and this burning cake. In short, the auburn head was buried in _Monte Cristo_. As Miss Usher and her brother boldly entered (immediately attended by two geese), Mary Foley started, came back to her own everyday life, and sprang to her feet, greeting Miss Usher with a radiant glance. “And so,” said her brother to himself, “this was Mary Foley!” Yes, though not locally credited with “looks,” she was undeniably pretty--nay, even beautiful--with clear-cut, high-bred features, and, for all her peasant’s clothes, an _aristocrat_ to the tips of her little pink fingers. “Ah, sure then, miss, it’s entirely too kind of you to come and bring me the books.” As she spoke her eyes fell on the parcel, and a wonderful smile--her ladyship’s smile--lit up her whole face. “This is my brother,” explained Miss Usher, introducing him with a gesture. “I am glad to see your honour”--dropping a curtsey--“and hope your honour has had good sport.” “Pretty well, I thank you,” he faltered, for he was gazing at the living image of the late Countess of Mulgrave--supposing the countess to be dressed in a short blue calico gown and coarse white apron. “And how is your mother to-day?” resumed Miss Usher. “Oh, indeed, she’s only among the middlings, miss, and she’s keeping her bed. Me aunt is gone to the town for some medicine.” “And you are minding the house?” suggested Mr. Usher. “And doing it badly, too, sir. Shoo! ye greedy divil!” and she made a dart at the cat. “Out of this wid ye!” and she drove off the geese. “But the truth is I’ve got stuck in a book, and when I do that I clean forget everything--more shame for me.” She still held the book between her fingers, and from the bottom of her heart wished herself alone. “May I see what it is?” said Miss Usher. Then, as she glanced at it--“oh, _Monte Cristo_! No wonder you were enthralled!” “Isn’t it splendid!” she exclaimed. “Oh, it beats Banagher! I’ve just got to where they are dragging him into the boat. Isn’t it grand!”