"Yes, I was always ginteel," says Mrs. Moloney, openly consoled. Still she sighs, and sips her tea with a mournful air. Mrs. Daly is drinking hers with much appreciation out of her saucer, it being considered discourteous to offer anything to a guest without partaking of the same one's self. At this moment a little cooing sound coming from the other corner of the fireplace makes itself heard. Instantly the old woman stooping over the turf embers rouses herself, and, turning, puts out her withered hand lovingly towards what looks like a box covered with colored stuff of some sort. Young Mrs. Daly rises too, precipitately and, hurrying across the kitchen, bends over the box. "Ay, she's awake sure enough!" says the old woman, who has quite brightened into life. "See how she looks at ye, Molly! The colleen of the world, she was! asthore machree-sthig." Many another fond name is muttered, such as "pulse o' my heart," and such like, before Mrs. Daly junior emerges from the supposed box, but _not_ empty-handed. "Oh! it is the baby!" cry Monica and Kit, in a breath. "Oh! what a darling baby! and what red, red cheeks, just like a June rose!" It is the only daughter of the house, so the mother is of course inordinately proud of it. She places it, with quite a little flourish of triumph, in Monica's arms, to Kit's terrible but unspoken disappointment. "She grows prettier every day. She is really the sweetest baby I ever saw in my life!" says Monica, enthusiastically, to whom babies are an endless joy. The mother is pleased beyond doubt at these compliments, yet a shade of anxiety crosses her brow. To praise a child _too_ much in the superstition of these simple folks, is to "overlook" it; and when a child is "overlooked" it dies. The smiles fades from Mrs. Daly's bonny face, and her mouth grows anxious. "You should say, 'God bless her,' miss, when ye give her the good word," says Mrs. Moloney, timidly, who is also bending over the beloved bundle, and notes the distress in her neighbor's eyes. "God bless her!" says Monica with pretty solemnity, after which the mother's face clears, and sunshine is again restored to it. "I think she knows ye," she says to Monica. "See how she blinks at ye! Arrah! look, now, how she clutches at yer hand! Will ye come to yer mother now, darlin',--will ye? Sure 'tis starvin' ye must be, by this." "Oh! don't take her yet," says Monica, entreatingly. A little figure with naked legs and feet, creeping into the doorway at this moment, draws near the baby as if fascinated. It is Paudheen, the eldest son of the house, and baby's _nurse_,--save the mark! "Come nearer, Paddy," says Monica, smiling at him with sweet encouragement; but Paddy stops short and regards her doubtfully. "Come, then, and kiss your little sister," continues Monica, gently; but Paddy is still obdurate, and declines to hearken to the charmer, charm she never so wisely. There is, indeed, a sad lack both of sweetness and light about Paddy.