"Well, that job's done," she observed, "an' the room ought to be clane enough to sarve him another twelvemonth. I don't know what the gentry wants wid all the clanin' at all. 'Tis meself wouldn't like ould buckets o' suds rowled round the flure o' my little room at home. They say washin' flures is the cause of a many coulds. How is the work wid ye, ma'am?" "I'm not progressin' much, ma'am. I was just tellin' Miss Sylvy that it was her sittin' and laughin' at me was puttin' out my hand. Sit down for a minute, ma'am, an' have a noggin o' buttermilk to cool ye. There's time enough to be pullin' up the master's ould carpet that hasn't been up in the memory o' man. He won't be home this hour yet." "Gentlemen doesn't like clanin' times, Miss Flanagan," Mrs. Murphy observed, as she seated herself. "Indeed, they're contrairy cratures, like all men. They like claneness, but they don't like to be claned. See how they're always moppin' themselves in could baths enough to give them their end, and yet water about their rooms is somethin' they can't endure. When I was at Lord Carrickmines's, the housekeeper put me, as it might be you, ma'am, to pelt an ould bucket o' water round his lordship's studio. He was a hasty man, an' he caught sight o' me enterin' the door--oh, bedad! he took the ould blunderbuss an' promised me the contints of it if I didn't quit." "The master here's rale quiet, though. He won't be for murdherin' you, glory be to goodness!" "I daresay he'll raise a pillalew all the time," said Bridget philosophically, "but 'tis no use mindin' him." "Yez have great preparations anyway, an' people's comfort all out o' the windy. I suppose 'tis a rale grand young gentleman yez are gettin'?" "Well enough, well enough," said Bridget loftily. "He's what ye call a baronite." "Rowlin' in gould, I suppose?" "Well, then, ma'am, I was never curious enough to ax his fortin'." Undeterred by this glaring snub, Mrs. Murphy went on placidly: "He'll be a fine match for wan o' the young ladies." "He might be," assented Bridget, as if she had thought of it for the first time. "Miss Sylvy now'll dazzle the eyes of him wid beauty. I wouldn't ask a greater beauty meself if I wor a young gentleman." "Oh, the beauty's there, never fear. You wouldn't find a sweeter angel than Miss Sylvy sittin' up in church on Sunday, wid the feathery hat she made herself, poor lamb. The little face of her, and the big shiny eyes, an' the darlin' hair puffed out about her. Och, indeed, you'd go a long way to bate Miss Sylvia in beauty." "So the young gentleman'll think, I'll be bound." "Indeed, then, I hope he won't be wastin' his time, for if he was to come makin' love to Miss Sylvy, 'tis as like as not she'd make a face at him." "Well, then, it'll be Miss Pamela."