Robert chuckled with delight. “But shure, an’ you don’t see the half,” he explained eagerly. “It’s all them nice things you don’t see as so pleases me. Now would you belaive—there’s actually twelve new dusters! positively bran’ new, all folded as neat an’ trim-lik’ an’ put away where no one can see ’em. Now that’s what I call restoring a church properly—indaid, I just luve the sight of ’em.” “I quite agree with you, Robert,” and Paddy’s eyes twinkled rarely. “It’s the things I can’t see, that I love to look at.” “Egzactly,” with growing excitement. “_I_ ought to ’a’ showed you roun’, Miss Paddy, ’cos I knows where everythin’ bides. Why, there’s six new lamp glasses, all a-lying there case o’ accidents, wrapped up in beautiful tissue paper. I’d a-lik’ you to see they lamp glasses. Oh! an’ the new iron safe,” getting almost beside himself. “Did ye see ’im a-sittin there in the vestry, on all they hymn books, all neatly stacked underneath, looking as important like as if ’e knew ’e was livin’ in one o’ the foinest churches in ould Oireland?” “When an iron safe sits on hymn books, what do you suppose hatches out?” murmured Paddy wickedly to Eileen. “Did ye see the new bell rope?” ran on Robert, waving his stick about in a somewhat dangerous fashion to eyes and noses. “A brave wee bit o’ rope that—strong ’nough to hang a man, as I says to Andrew Murphy. The blue ceiling with the yellow stars is all very well, and the new altar, and the winder with the angels playin’ on real Oirish harps—but ’tis all a bit popish to my thinkin’—and I lik’ that brave wee rope, and they lamp glasses in tissue paper, and they twelve bran’ new dusters the best. Faith! ’tis meeself should have shown ye roun’. I’m shure ye didn’t see the half. Did ye notice the new tumbler o’ wather for ’is rivirence to drink from when ’is sermons is too long-winded for ’im? Faith! we did make a job of it. Ivery ’ole and corner turned out and clained. Shure, it’s meeself did the back seat by the font, and to my sartin knowledge it ’adn’t been cleaned out this ten or twelve year. Niver more’n about once since I’ve had the cue o’ the edifice this forty year.” This finished Paddy, and with a hasty farewell she sped off to the beach for her first sail; later on in the day writing Jack a long epistle upon Robert Morony and the church restoration, which Jack read lying at full-length on his back on the grass a month later; and his shouts of laughter brought his colleagues round to beg a share of the fun. Two days later Eileen and her mother left for Dublin, and Paddy became the spoiled darling of the Parsonage. She went everywhere just as of old, and though for a little while she avoided Mourne Lodge, not wishing to meet Lawrence, she soon found her strategic position untenable, and was obliged to yield to the insistent persuasions of Kathleen and Doreen, who began to look genuinely puzzled and distressed over her extraordinary reluctance to visit them.