The little fisher-children came round them, smiling at them, examining them all over, touching their clothes. They had never seen anything so nice as this little lady and gentleman. There were six little fishermen and fisherwomen, all in red flannel frocks and bare feet. Nonie, the eldest, who was eight years old, could not cease admiring the strangers. "Where were ye?" she asked suddenly, after a long, worshipful silence, with her eyes fixed now on Terry and now on Turly. "Oh! isn't she sweet?" cried Terry. "What do you mean, Nonie?" "Where were ye before?" stammered Nonie. "Oh, miss," said the mother, laughing, "she wants to know where ye live, for she never seen the like o' ye before!" "We live over on the other shore, in a big house, Nonie; and I hope you will come to see us there. I'm sure Gran'ma will want you to come." And then, when she thought of what Gran'ma at that moment was doing, Terry broke down and began to cry bitterly. "Oh, Mrs. O'Neill, you don't know how dreadful it will be when we haven't come home, and nobody knows what has become of us!" "Well, dearie, as soon as ever the storm goes down a bit, it's Peter O'Neill that'll be takin' you home to her." "It's worse for me, you know, Mrs. O'Neill, because Turly is a boy; and, besides, I am older. I am always getting into scrapes though I don't mean it, and I suppose I must have gone wrong this time too." "No, you didn't," said Turly; "I got into the boat and I made you come to me." "I oughtn't to have got in," said Terry, "I ought to have pulled you out." "Then we should both have been drowned," said Turly, "for I should have pulled and kicked, I know I should, and the boat would have gone over on top of us." "Oh, poor Gran'ma!" cried Terry. "I tell you Nursey will pretend we're in bed," said Turly; and Terry grasped at this idea and took a little comfort from it, remembering Nancy's many successful little plots for screening the children and saving her dear lady from anxiety and disturbance. The beds in the fisherman's house were only of straw done up in bags, and the bed-clothes were very light, but the children slept soundly and found everything as comfortable as possible. Terry was wakened by a little kid licking her face, and started up in great astonishment and delight. It was a pet kid, and had rushed into the house as soon as the door was opened. The breakfast was potatoes and goat's milk. The little fisher-children ate with them, and were very merry as they peeled their potatoes and sipped the milk from their tin mugs. But Terry and Turly could scarcely understand what they said, even when they spoke English. "What are they saying, Mrs. O'Neill?" asked Terry, completely puzzled, while Nonie and her little brothers and sisters chattered to one another. "Sure it's Irish they're talkin'," said their mother. "It's what we always talk together, and anything else comes strange to them." "Irish? But we are Irish too. Why don't we talk Irish?" cried Terry.