"It'll never do for 'Trevithick's lad,' as the dear dad calls him. I don't suppose he's used to young women with rents in their frocks. And I am a young woman, and so is Sylvia, though our own father has never found it out." As she sat waiting, a dreamy smile came to her lips and a softness to her eyes. It was like a prophecy of what "Trevithick's lad" was to bring--like the dawn of love, sweet and bitter, that was to bring Pam the hoyden into her woman's inheritance. "Come along, dear," she said with a start, turning to her father: it seemed as if his head-pattings of the children would never come to an end. "Frisky's getting uneasy, and will bolt with me and the crockery, if you don't hurry up." Her father jumped into the little cart with a laugh. "I forgot that you were waiting, Pam, those infants have such pleasing ways. But as for Frisky running away with you, why, bless me! he's had time to get old since he ran away with the post; at least, so you say, though I should never have believed it--never!" "And now," said Pam, "you're going to be turned out of house and home for the next few days. Unhappy man, you little know how you've carried soap and scrubbing brushes for your own destruction." Mr. Graydon gave a gasp of genuine alarm. "Soap and scrubbing brushes! But what for, Pam? I am sure everything is very clean--except my books; and I won't have the books touched, mind that--I won't have my books touched." "Indeed, then, and I'd advise you to say that to Bridget yourself, for I'm sure I won't. She's taken a fit of industry, and says she might as well be living among haythens, wid th' ould dust an' dirt the masther's for ever gatherin'. 'Them ould books of his,' she says, 'would be a dale better for a rub of a damp cloth, and then a polish up wid a duster.'" "Pam!" cried the unhappy gentleman. "She wouldn't dare put a damp cloth near my books." "She'd dare most things, would Bridget. It's your vellum covers she's after chiefly. She says they're unnaturally dirty." She looked at the beloved face, which bore a look of genuine dismay over its genial ruddiness. "Never mind, dad," she said. "Bridget promises great things; but between you and me I believe the great clearing up will just end in what she herself calls a lick and a promise. I don't suppose she'll ever get so far as your possessions--I don't really believe she will." "Don't let her, Pamela darling, will you?" said her father entreatingly. "Why, good gracious! my classics in vellum! A damp cloth! And Bridget's damp cloth! It would be enough to send me to an asylum." [Illustration: "Come along," she said.] CHAPTER II. PREPARATIONS. "When I was at Lord Carrickmines's," began Bridget. "Bother Lord Carrickmines!" said Miss Sylvia Graydon. "We know everything that happened at Lord Carrickmines', and that can't have been much, seeing you've lived in this house since before I was born."