“Lave him to it, Nancy. His poor head's that moidered and mixed it's like a black pudding--there's no saying what's inside of it. But he's good, though; aw, right good he is for all, and the world's cold and cruel. Lave him alone, woman; lave him alone, poor boy.” The child awoke and cried, and, under cover of this commotion and the crowing and cooing of the two women, Pete stepped back to the gate, clashed it hard, swung noisily up the gravel, and rolled into the house with a shout and a laugh. “Well, well! Grannie, my gough! Who'd have thought of seeing Grannie, now? And how's the ould angel to-day? So you've got the lil one there? Aw, you rogue, you. You're on Grannie's lap, are you? How's Cæsar? And how's Mrs. Gorry doing? Look at that now--did you ever? Opening one eye first to make sure if the world's all right. The child's wise. Coo--oo--oo! Smart with the dinner, Nancy--wonderful hungry the chapel's making a man. Coo--oo! What's she like, now, Grannie?” “When I set her to my knee like this I can see my own lil Kirry again,'' said Grannie, looking down ruefully, rocking the child with one knee and doubling over it to kiss it. “So she's like the mammy, is she?” said Pete, blowing at the baby and tickling its chin with his broad forefinger. “Mammy's gone to the ould uncle's--hasn't she, my lammie?” At that Grannie fell to rocking herself as well as the child, and to singing a hymn in a quavery voice. Then with a rattle and a rush, throwing off his coat and tramping the floor in his shirt-sleeves, while Nancy dished up the dinner, Pete began to enlarge on Kate's happiness in the place where she had gone. “Tremenjous grand the ould man's house is--you wouldn't believe. A reg'lar Dempster's palace. The grandeur on it is a show and a pattern. Plenty to ate, plenty to drink, and a boy at the door with white buttons dotting on his brown coat, bless you like--like a turnip-field in winter. Then the man himself; goodness me, the happy that man is--Happy Joe they're calling him. Wouldn't trust but he'll be taking Kate to a theaytre. Well, and why not, if a person's down a bit? A merry touch and go--where's the harm at all? Fact is, Grannie, that's why we couldn't tell you Kate was going. Cæsar would have been objecting. He's fit enough for it--ha, ha, ha!” Grannie looked up at Pete as he laughed, and the broad rose withered on his face. “H'm! h'm!” he said, clearing his throat; “I'm bad dreadful wanting a smook.” And past the dinner-table, now smoking and ready, he slithered out of the house. Cæsar was Pete's next visitor. He said nothing of Kate, and neither did Pete mention Uncle Joe. The interview was a brief and grim one. It was a lie that Ross Christian had been sent by his father to ask for a loan, but it was true that Peter Christian was in urgent need of money. He wanted six thousand pounds as mortgage on Ballawhaine. Had Pete got so much to lend? No need for personal intercourse; Cæsar would act as intermediary.