This slur was totally unjustified, but I pardoned it, because Salemina's temper is ordinarily perfect, and the circumstances were somewhat tragic. “If you had brought a dozen costumes, they would all be in your room at this moment,” I replied; “but we must think of something. It is impossible for you to remain behind; we were invited more on your account than our own, for you are Dr. La Touche's friend, and the dinner is especially in his honour. Molly, have you a ladder?” “Sorra a wan, ma'am.” “Could we borrow one?” “We could not, Mrs. Beresford, ma'am.” “Then see if you can break down the door; try hard, and if you succeed I will buy you a nice new one! Part of Miss Peabody's dress is inside the room, and we shall be late to the Castle dinner.” The entire corps, with Mrs. Waterford of Mullinavat on top, cast itself on the door, which withstood the shock to perfection. Then in a moment we heard: “Weary's on it, it will not come down for us, ma'am. It's the iligant locks we do be havin' in the house; they're mortial shtrong, ma'am!” “Strong, indeed!” exclaimed the incensed Benella, in a burst of New England wrath. “There's nothing strong about the place but the impidence of the people in it! If you had told Peter to get a carpenter or a locksmith, as I've been asking you these two weeks, it would have been all right; but you never do anything till a month after it's too late. I've no patience with such a set of doshies, dawdling around and leaving everything to go to rack and ruin!” “Sure it was yourself that ruinated the thing,” responded Molly, with spirit, for the unaccustomed word 'doshy' had kindled her quick Irish temper. “It's aisy handlin' the knob is used to, and faith it would 'a' stuck there for you a twelvemonth!” “They will be quarrelling soon,” said Salemina nervously. “Do not wait another instant; you are late enough now, and I insist on your going. Make any excuse you see fit: say I am ill, say I am dead, if you like, but don't tell the real excuse--it is too shiftless and wretched and embarrassing. Don't cry, Benella. Molly, Oonah, go downstairs to your work. Mrs. Waterford, I think perhaps you have forgotten that we have already purchased raffle tickets, and we'll not take any more for fear that we may draw the necklace. Good-bye, dears; tell Lady Killbally I shall see her to-morrow.” Chapter XV. Penelope weaves a web. 'Why the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee, While alone with your cup, Like a hermit you sup, Och hone, Widow Machree.' Samuel Lover.