Patsy, who had never been beyond the kitchen of the Big House before, followed his guide down a long stone passage, up a flight of steps, through a swing-door, then along a corridor from which they entered a great hall. Patsy had never seen anything like this, for the floor of the hall was of polished oak, shining like glass; a staircase, so broad that you might have driven a coach and horses up it, led from the hall to the first landing. Round the hall was a gallery, and under the gallery stood men in armour, looking very ghostly in the dim light. They were only suits of armour, of course, but they were fixed so that it was impossible to tell whether there were men inside them or not. “Mrs Kinsella, ma’am,” whispered Patsy. “What is it, Patsy?” answered the cook. “Let’s go back, for it’s afeared I am.” “You come along,” answered the cook. She knocked at a door, a voice answered “Come in”; she opened the door and, followed by Patsy, entered a pleasantly furnished room, where a stately-looking old lady sat by a great fire of holly logs which was blazing on the hearth. This was Lady Seagrave herself, and Patsy looked at her with awe, for she was seventy-nine years of age, and as deaf as a post. People said she remembered the Battle of Waterloo, and some of the more ignorant country people said she had been at it. Patsy could almost have believed this as he stood looking at her, for she was a very fierce-looking old lady, with heavy eyebrows, a large nose, and bright, piercing eyes. She was beautifully dressed, and her fingers were covered with sparkling rings; she held an ear-trumpet to her ear. “This is Patsy Rooney, your ladyship,” cried Mrs Kinsella through the trumpet. “I’ve washed him and brushed him to make him a bit respectable, for it’s wild in the woods he’s been runnin’ this last two years, ever since his mother died.” “Oh, this is Patsy Rooney, is it?” said Lady Seagrave. “Hum! he looks wild enough still, but I daresay time and soap will work wonders. Is he honest, cook?” “As honest a lad as your ladyship would find in the length and breadth of the land,” replied Mrs Kinsella. “Have you explained to him that I wish him to enter my service in the capacity of page-boy?” “No, your ladyship; I just cotched him and washed him and brought him up to you. His father is wishful and willin’ for him to enter your ladyship’s service.” “That may be,” replied the old lady, “but I will have no one in my house a slave against their will. Let him advance and answer my questions personally.” “Put your mouth to the trumpet, and when the old lady asks you a question say ‘Yes, my lady,’” whispered Mrs Kinsella. Now Lady Seagrave was so old that she sometimes forgot things. She had quite forgotten Patsy’s name. “What is your name?” asked her ladyship. “I have quite forgotten it. Speak up in a loud, clear voice, and don’t shuffle your feet. Now what is your name?”