“Here, Patsy,” said Mrs Kinsella, when she had led him back to the kitchen by the ear, “take this broom and away with you to the top of the house and give it to Mary, the second housemaid; you’ll find her on the top landing. Go down the passage and across the big hall and up the big staircase, and be back in a minit, or I’ll scalp you.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Patsy, and seizing the broom he started. He went down the passage, crossed the hall and went up the broad staircase, looking about him and wondering at the splendour of the place. Poor Patsy, the staircase in his father’s cottage was just a ladder. He had never seen a looking-glass in his life, if we except the bit of broken mirror used by his father as a shaving glass. The first landing was rather dimly lit, and scarcely had Patsy set foot on it when who should he see directly facing him but a red-headed page-boy with a broom in his hand. He stared at this apparition for half a second. Then promptly he put his thumb to his nose and extended his fingers; the one in the mirror did the same. “I’ll larn you to make faces at your betters, you ugly-lookin’ baste!” cried Patsy, his red hair bristling like the back of a wire-haired terrier. He brought his broom to the “present,” the other did likewise; then he charged. “Glory be to God, what’s that?” cried Mrs Kinsella, as the smash of the great mirror, followed by a wild yell of astonishment, reached her ears. “I dunno,” replied Jane, the kitchen-maid; “but it sounds like Patsy’s voice.” During the first few days Patsy made several and desperate attempts to bolt back to the freedom of the woods and life in his father’s cottage. Then all at once he settled down and took to his new life and duties with that adaptability which is part of the basis of the Irish character. The main cause in this transformation was the influence of the children. Miss Kiligrew, the governess, developing measles on the second morning of Patsy’s initiation, and being removed to the infirmary at Tullagh, the children were left pretty much to their own devices, and the first use they made of their freedom was to make friends with Patsy. One evening Lord Gawdor having in a fit of exuberance kicked a football through the nursery window, and he and his companions having been placed under arrest, Patsy, the other servants being busy, was deputed to carry them their tea. It was four o’clock and nearly dark, the wind was rattling at the window (William, the gardener, who did all sorts of odd jobs, had put in a new pane), and the fire was flickering and dancing in the grate and casting moving shadows on the walls.