"Then you haven't money enough to get married?" she asked in a pathetic little voice. Suddenly her face brightened. "But I don't mind; I'll keep house for you without any money; and storks always come to newly married people, I've heard them say so." "We couldn't do that, Lady Pat; we'd starve to death unless we ate the storks. Come, let's go and find Riley." But Riley's anxiety had resulted in his anticipating them, and the familiar face at that moment showed above the stairway, as the old man approached them, out of breath. "Ah, there ye are, praise be ter th' Virgin Mary," he panted. "Ah, sich a mess as ye're gettin' poor old Riley in. I cudn't hilp it, Misther Allen, I cudn't nohow," heading off any criticism from that quarter--"she wud have it, and that's th' ind iv it. I'm thinkin' that's why they named her Miss Pat--'tis th' Irish persistency iv her name that crops out, an' th' cajolery. I cudn't hilp it, nohow." "Of course he couldn't help it." Patricia assented. "I had to see you, and some one had to show me where you lived. But you may go now if you want to, Riley." "We had better come inside and talk it over--if we can get in," Allen suggested, opening the door again, and pushing the things one side. "Ah, Misther Allen--all ye'er clothes will be spiled, kickin' 'round like this. Shall I fold 'em up an' put 'em in th' thrunks fer ye, sor?" Riley was in his element again, and Allen grasped at the old man's offer with an eagerness not assumed. "That's just the thing," he said. "You pack the trunk, Riley, while Lady Pat and I sit on the window-seat and have a little visit." "Here are my things, too, Riley." Patricia handed the old man her satchel and book. "Perhaps you'd better pack those on top." "Why should I pack thim in Misther Allen's thrunk?" he demanded. "Because we're going away to be married," she announced, grandly. "You are the first one in the family to know it, and you mustn't tell." Riley started to speak, but a signal from Allen silenced him; so he continued his work, bringing order out of chaos so quickly that he won instant admiration. "Now, look here, Lady Pat," said Allen, kindly, as the child sat on her heels in front of him on the window-seat, "we must talk this matter over very carefully." "Yes, Sir Launcelot," Patricia assented, expectantly. "In the first place, I have made your father very angry with me." "Were you a naughty boy?" "He thinks so, and he must be right; but it wouldn't do to make him any more angry by taking you away without his permission. You see that, don't you?" "But they wouldn't blame you--they'd blame me," the child persisted. "Alice would frown at me and say 'Pa-tri-ci-a.' Papa would be severe and say, 'I shall have to ask mamma Eleanor to punish you,' and mamma Eleanor would look sad and say, 'Oh, my darling,' But she'd forget all about it as soon as I kissed her."