“Yes, I am very well off for friends--friends among my school-fellows, and friends over here--there are the Moores of Roskeen, and the Mahon girls, and Miss Dopping, and your sister, Cuckoo.” “Miss Dopping and Cuckoo! What a contrast; rather a scratch pair, as the Major would say.” “May be so, but they suit me exactly. Miss Dopping is my house friend, and Cuckoo is my companion out of doors.” “And have you summer and winter friends, and fine weather and wet weather friends?” “No, I have _no_ fine weather friend; you don’t understand. Miss Dopping is old and does not go out much. She and I like the same people in books, and we read and talk over things, and she tells me about old times, and teaches me various matters, and lectures me now and then.” “Yes, and Cuckoo? Does she lecture you and talk about old times?” “No, indeed, _I_ lecture her; we run after the Harriers together, and botanise, and go nutting, and black-berrying.” George began to think that a walk with this original girl was an agreeable novelty, and was rather sorry to see the garden walls of Noone looming through the trees. In a narrow path leading from the garden gate, they nearly fell over Lodge Juggy, with her apron very full of something, and if she could be said to blush--she blushed, as she stood right in their way, dropping hurried courtesies. “Oh, Juggy,” exclaimed Betty, “where are you going; what have you got there?” “Just a lock of old cabbage laves for the pig, miss, that Mike was throwing out.” “What small cabbages--they are the shape of potatoes,” said Betty, looking steadily at Juggy’s apron. “Well, there is a couple or so, and I won’t deny it, miss, but sure, times is hard, terribly hard, Miss Betty, and _you_ mind the days when your uncle was alive, when I went to mass on me own ass’s car, and kept a couple of pigs!” “And what has happened to you, Juggy?” enquired George, sympathetically. “Well, sir, ever since I offended the Lord and Mrs. Redmond, I’m in a poor way. Sure, I get nothing out of the gate, but what people give me.” “And I hope they are liberal,” said George, feeling his pocket. “There does be no quality passing now; times is changed, but some are not too bad at Christmas. Mrs. Mahon puts a flannel petticoat on me, and Mrs. Maccabe puts a couple of shifts on me, and Miss Dopping puts a pair of boots on me.” “The Graces attiring Venus,” muttered the young man to Betty; then louder: “I hope you will allow me to contribute to your toilet,” placing five shillings in her ready hand. “Get yourself one or two larger and stronger aprons; you don’t know _how_ useful you may find them.” “The Lord love your handsome face!” exclaimed Juggy, upon whom the sarcasm was completely lost. “Faix! it’s a real trate to see a gentleman,” and, as they passed on, she struck an easy and reflective attitude, and remarked, in a tone of audible approval: