“Wirra! An’ me fire black out—an’ what in the world, at all, ’ll I give ’em for their dinners!” They made acquaintance with the problem a little later when, hungry and cheerful, they gathered in the long, low dining-room, where last year’s heather and ling filled the fireless grate. The “odd-boy,” cleansed beyond belief, awaited them. “What can we have for dinner?” O’Neill inquired. “Is it dinner? Sure, anything you’d fancy, sir,” said the “odd-boy,” with a nervous briskness that somehow induced disbelief. “H’m,” said Sir John, remembering the cry of woe that had floated through the air, earlier. “Chops or steaks?” The “odd-boy” shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m afeard there’s none in the house, sir,” he said. “’Tis the way the butcher——” “Oh well—cold meat,” O’Neill said, cutting short the butcher’s iniquities. “Yes, sir—certainly, sir!” said the “odd boy,” and disappeared. There was an interval during which the party admired the view and endeavoured to repress the pangs of hunger. Finally the messenger reappeared. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, nervously. “Cold meat is off, they do be tellin’ me.” “Well, what can we have?” O’Neill said, losing the finer edge of his patience. The “odd-boy” grew confidential. “’Tis this way, sir,” he said. “The fair was yesterday: an’ them cattle-jobbers have us ate out of the house. So there’s just three things ye can have, sir: an’ the first eggs; an’ the second’s bacon; and third is eggs and bacon. An’ ye can have your choice-thing of them three!” CHAPTER XII ASS-CART _VERSUS_ MOTOR “The grand road from the mountain goes shining to the sea, And there is traffic on it, and many a horse and cart: But the little roads of Cloonagh are dearer far to me, And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart.” EVA GORE-BOOTH. THROUGH the tiny window of Norah’s room came the soft sunlight which makes an Irish morning so perfect a thing that to stay in bed a moment longer than necessary would be criminal. Norah woke up, and looked at it sleepily for a few minutes, wishing the window were bigger. It had altogether declined to remain open the night before, until she had propped it with the water-jug, which now stood rakishly on the sill, and had already excited considerable interest and speculation in the street below. She dressed quickly, somewhat embittered by the fact that investigation discovered no sign of a bathroom. The search was a nervous one, since the corridor seemed principally to consist of shut doors; and after cautiously opening one which looked promising, but which revealed a tousled head on a pillow, with loud snores saluting her, she was seized with panic, and fled back to her own room.