“No harrum intindid,” said he, looking at Ethel with a pleasant smile. “Ye can’t make an insult out of a hell or two a day like this. I t’harght that perhaps your woman would like some blue berries for breakfast th’ day, an’ I brarght them up. They’re picked this marnin’, an’ the dew is yit on them.” He held out an eight-quart pail filled to the top with tempting berries. “How much are they, Pat,” said I, putting my hand into my pocket. “Who’s insultin’ now?” said he, with a growling laugh. “I’ll sell no _prisints_ this yair. ’Twas a hell of a bad ride ye had th’ other night, an’ I tould me ould woman I’d git square wid ye one way or another, an’ this is the way. They’re dam fine.” “They certainly are,” said Ethel, unconsciously seconding his oath. She went into the house to get a bowl to put them into and just then Ellery and Cherry came up. “The top of the marnin’ to ye,” said Pat, bowing to Cherry, as he had bowed to Ethel. “It’s easy to tell why it’s a fine day.” Cherry was unconscious enough to ask him why. “Sure, wid you out how could’t help ut.” “Now will you be good, Cherry?” said I. “You’ve kissed the blarney stone,” said she, with a lovely blush. “Sure I have, but I knew beauty before that.” His tone was not offensive nor did Cherry take offence. It was truth buttered with flattery and that’s as good as cake. Ethel now came out with the bowl, and the big “bloomy” berries, damp with dew, were poured into it. “It’s glad I am you’re up here,” said Pat, as he walked down the path. “Neighbours is neighbours, an’ phwin you’re passin’ an’ need restin’ it’s fine buttermilk me ould woman’ll give ye, an’ glad of the chance. Good marnin’ to yez.” “Good morning, Mr. Casey, and thank you very much for the berries. They’re the best I’ve seen,” said Ethel. “They’re dam fine, that’s a fact,” said he. “But none too good for the likes of youse.” We all went in to the griddle cakes, but before Minerva began to fry them we had heaping plates of blue berries and even as the burglar had been impressed by them so were Cherry and Ellery. “I thought,” said Ellery, “that your New Englander was always on the make.” “Well, in the first place, Pat is not, strictly speaking, a New Englander,” said Ethel, “and in the second place, they’re _not_ always on the make by any means, as we’ve often found out since we came here. Neighbourliness is never sold and there’s lots of neighbourliness here.” “The very fact that neighbourliness is not sold makes it the more necessary for country people to get a good price for the things they do sell,” said I, sententiously.