“Perhaps, Baby, you’d like to have Mrs. Magra to keep us company?” “Who’s she?” was the brief answer. “The housekeeper; a very respectable old matron.” “Is she funny?” “Funny! not a bit.” “Oh, then, never mind her. What made you think of her?” “Why, I thought, perhaps you’d think--That is people might say--In fact I was doing a little bit proper on your account.” “Oh, that was it, was it? Thank you for nothing, my dear; Baby Blake can take care of herself. And now just help me to that wing there. Do you know, Cousin Charley, I think you’re an old quiz, and not half as good a fellow as you used to be?” “Come, come, Baby, don’t be in such a hurry to pronounce upon me. Let us take a glass of wine. Fill Miss Blake’s glass, Simon.” “Well, you may be better when one comes to know you. I detest sherry. No, never mind, I’ll take it, as it’s here. Charley, I’ll not compliment you upon your ham; they don’t know how to save them here. I’ll give you such a receipt when you come over to see us. But will you come? That’s the question.” “How can you ask me! Don’t you think I’ll return your visit?” “Oh, hang your ceremony! Come and see us, like a good-natured fellow that knew us since we played together and quarrelled over our toys on the grass. Is that your sword up there? Did you hear that noise? That was thunder: there it comes. Look at that!” As she spoke, a darkness like night overspread the landscape; the waves of the river became greatly agitated, and the rain, descending in torrents, beat with tremendous force against the windows; clap after clap of thunder followed; the lightning flashed fearfully through the gloom; and the wind, growing every moment stronger, drove the rain with redoubled violence against the glass. For a while we amused ourselves with watching the effects of the storm without: the poor laborers flying from their work; the dripping figures seeking shelter beneath the trees; the barques; the very loaded carts themselves,--all interested Miss Baby, whose eye roved from the shore to the Shannon, recognizing with a practised eye every house upon its banks, and every barque that rocked and pitched beneath the gale. “Well, this is pleasant to look out at,” said she, at length, and after the storm had lasted for above an hour, without evincing any show of abatement; “but what’s to become of _me?_” Now that was the very question I had been asking myself for the last twenty minutes without ever being able to find the answer. “Eh, Charley, what’s to become of me?” “Oh, never fear; one thing’s quite certain, you cannot leave this in such weather. The river is certainly impassable by this time at the ford, and to go by the road is out of the question; it is fully twelve miles. I have it, Baby; you, as I’ve said before, can’t leave this, but I can. Now, I’ll go over to Gurt-na-Morra, and return in the morning to bring you back; it will be fine by that time.”