"I wouldn't blame you for doubtin' my word, for Dr. Whittaker, Lord rest him, did the same. He was in vaccinatin' Master Donald, and Miss Hilda sat on her little creepy-stool readin' the paper to her dolls. ''Tis gibberish,' says he. 'Askin' your pardon, sir, for contradictin' you, 'tis sense,' says I. 'Come over here, my little girl,' says he, 'an' tell me,' he says, 'if the Rooshians is smashin' the Turks, or the Turks knockin' smoke out o' the Rooshians.' Well, of course, the innocent child took him seriously, an' so she came an' perched on his knee, an' began to read for him--though, of course, some of the words was too big for her little mouth. 'Oh, by this and that,' says he, 'this licks creation! 'Tis a progedy she's goin' to be, or else,' says he, 'she'll grow up without any sinse at all in her brain-pan.'" If Mary O'Connor hadn't heard this tale a thousand times the young Brandons had, and the boys at this stage looked up indignantly from their strawberries and cream, to tell Oona they were rather tired of it. "'Deed, then," she said, very angry with them, "if a bit o' the same love of the book had been passed on, 'twould have been a good thing; but Master Hugh there said he'd rather ait his jography than learn it, and Master Donald, it's well known through the barony, turned his Ailments of Euclid into kite-tails." At this stage, seeing things looked a bit stormy, I interposed with an inquiry about the "ingenuities", and the attention of the boys was distracted. After tea we roamed about the house and gardens at our will. The rooms were still full of big packing-cases and swathed articles which made progress difficult. "General MacNeill seems likely to settle here, Mary," I said, looking round at the assemblage of furniture. "I'm told he says he doesn't want to stir out of it till he dies. I hear he's burnt black, poor man, with the Ingy sun, an' his temper not what it ought to be by raison of the annoyance of them Red Injins he's been commandin'. I wouldn't be surprised now if he's come here to get his mind quiet an' his temper settled before he laves this world for a better. Ireland's an elegant quiet place for makin' your sowl." I smiled, remembering that Lady O'Brien had said something of the same kind. After we had viewed all the curiosities, and enjoyed ourselves immensely, I sat down quietly in the library to wait till the boys and the twins were satiated with the gardens, and while the two old cronies were having their gossip in the housekeeper's room. The library was deliciously quiet, and I wandered about from one heap to another, picking off a book and looking into it, and then drawn by the embarrassment of my riches to another one. I felt as if I should be a long time in that library before I could settle down to read. I should have to look into every single book first. There were delightful little ladders by which to reach the upper shelves. I looked at the chaos of books up there.