“Thanks” ses she, “Thanks agin” ses she, as he likewise returns her rist-bag. He lifted up his hat, waited a bit for more thanks, and thin marched aff, shmiling like his face wud bust. _She_ smiles too, and ses I, boorsting: “A roomance, Miss Claire! Be all the saints in hivin and airth, ye’ve luked into the eyes of your hoosband.” “Nonsense” ses she, laffing, “you’re the same old silly sintimental Delia. Cum home deer.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VII TWO WEEKS LATER. Awoke, aroze, washed, dressed, made me bed. Spint the bitter part of a our or more trying to make that dummed stove burn. Its a wild wilderniss of a place is this and its hard indade for a pure loansum innercent female to bare the silence of the atmust-fear. Whin Miss Claire a spoke of the country I had thort of Asbry Park or Coney Island and such like sinsible places, but indade theres no bordwalk here at all at all and the only kinds of bands and orkistrys is in the trees. Wirra, wirra, wirra! The kitchens in the bastement and the dining-room a flure above. I shuk me hed over this contrivance whin I first seen it, but Miss Claire ses very swately: “Now doant you be arfter wurrying about that” ses she “fur theres a dumm waiter in the butlers pantry.” Wid that she showed me a contrapshon in the wall, and wint to work pulling at the ropes. “Dumm!” ses I, shouting wid me rarth, “Is it dumm you call the dumm thing. My God, Miss,” ses I “Its noysy enuff to waken the deff.” “Nites enuff” ses I me milincoly hivvy on me chist, “it’ll be all nites now for me Miss Claire.” “You Goose!” ses she, “I don’t meen _that_ kind of Nite, but—but—you know—a grate handsome fellar of a Nite” ses she. “Is it a _bow_ ye’re maning?” I arsks sarcarskullully. “Yes Delia dear.” “And sorrer a Nite of that kind will I get Miss” ses I moanfully. She opened her blue eyes big, and shuk her hed mysteerissly. “Its in the cuntry they abownd” ses she. “And lit them cum abownding” ses I snorting, “Its a foine gintlemanly sort” ses I “wud abound into the prisince of a loidy. If it’s oanly the bounding kind ye’re haveing here, Miss Claire, theyd bitter kape their distance frum me kitchen.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VIII A FEW DAYS LATER Awoke—aroze—washed—dressed—made me bed—Imtied me slops. I tuk a bit of paper from Mr. John’s desk, and I penned the follering warning in plane litters and langwidge: BRIKFUST SARVED AT 8 OANLEY NO BRIKFUST SARVED LATER This I taxed artiskully upon the dining-room door—facing all eyes.