"I don’t see _why_," argued the Atom; "if she were _really_ ill, we’d be sorry—I suppose." Denis shouted with laughter at her tone. "She isn’t ill, you see," pursued Sheila Pat. "She’s just like a baby and won’t take this and won’t take that! So I don’t see why we should be sorry yet awhile—we will be when she gets worse, perhaps." "Denis," said Nell, "I’m going to give Sarah a holiday!" "To celebrate the joy—melancholy occasion?" Nell had been waving Aunt Kezia’s letter with its reams of counsel and advice over her head. She laid it down demurely. "Don’t be silly, Denis. I consider Sarah deserves a holiday." "Prunes and prisms! So she does!" "And it’s Saturday, so you can help after lunch." "I’m at your service, fair Eileen." When Sarah came to clear the table Nell waved her away. "Sarah, go and put on your outdoor apparel! You are to have a holiday. We—the O’Briens—have decreed it so." "Yes, miss—_what_? A ’oliday? What for, miss?" "For general good conduct, Sarah." "But—" "Away! We stand no ’buts’ in our family. Once a ram was slain for butting, you know, Sarah," observed Denis, absurdly. "You’re just wasting your time and you might be with your _sweetheart_, Sarah!" put in the Atom, practically. Scarlet-faced, Sarah fled. Nell pursued her. "Sarah, you are not to return before ten o’clock to-night." "Oh, if you’ll hexcuse me, miss, I must—there’s ’Err Smitt’s dinner!" "What were you going to give him, Sarah?" "A steak with boiled potaters and a cauliflower, and a jam tart," said Sarah, dejectedly. "All of which I can manage," said Nell. "He has coffee after it, doesn’t he?" "And who’ll answer the door, miss?" "Any of us. Now go and get ready, Sarah." After clearing away Herr Schmidt’s breakfast Sarah took her departure with many injunctions: "Leave the dirty plates and things for me, miss, and would you please tell the baker to shut the gate after ’im, as mistress do object so to it being left open, and ’e always forgets—" She went at last, joyful but full of anxiety. Denis had gone off to the bank. "Now," said Nell, "I’m going to concoct a dream of a lunch! Chicken—oysters—jellies—such sweets! And we’ll get hold of Ted, somehow—he must be here!" He was there. They had the luncheon in the kitchen. "It saves carrying things into the dining room," said Nell, but it was more for the fun of it than anything else. It was a very successful lunch, and the cook received quite an ovation. When the meal was over, she observed:— "I do hate to give a person a holiday and then make her do her work when she comes home." Ted looked at her inquiringly. Denis gazed at the ceiling. "I do," reiterated Nell, severely. "Of course," said Ted, vaguely. "Careful, old man! Any statement you make now will be used against you. Nell’s pathetic observation, translated into cold English, means that we’ve got to wash up." "I will!" cried Sheila Pat. Denis looked at her enviously.