"It is ze fine day, hein?" he observed, with a curious elephantine anxiety to be properly polite to his very polite visitor. The Atom’s eyes turned to the window and studied the brilliant pink sky beyond it. "The fine day, is it? It’s not so bad for London," she observed in a disparaging voice. "You come from Ireland?" "Yes." He peered into the rigid little face and understood. "I come from Shermany," he said gently. "Little one, you will return some day." The Atom said nothing. "You haf ze nice little dog." Herr Schmidt changed the conversation cheerfully. "What do you call him?" "She isn’t a him at all," the Atom said scornfully; "’tis herself’s a lady! An’ her name’s Kate Kearney." "Ach!" said Herr Schmidt. Sheila Pat looked at him gravely. "I am very small for my age," she began in an anxious voice. "I’m not very young really. I’m more than six. I’m quite nine weeks more." "Quite very old," he agreed heartily. "And now you will eat and drink with me, hein?" He was opening a cupboard. "It is a very goot cake. I am what you call an old sweet-teeth. And the drink will not harm you; it is sweet and hot—it is made by my old mother." He poured out two glasses and handed her one. "We will drink and be friends, eh?" She hesitated. "’Tis wondhring I am just what a lodger _is_," she explained. "I’ve never met one before, you see. Nell turned up her nose at you and said she’d never be dhramin’ Aunt Kezia was so bad as to have a lodger." "Your aunt is a very kind laty; she allows me to live here, while I am far from Shermany," he said gravely. The Atom looked interested; after a pause of wonder she dismissed the question of her aunt’s being a kind lady, and observed:— "Is that all? We’ll drink then and be friends. I hope you won’t mind if I don’t love you _very_ much, because you’re not Irish, you see." He declared he would be satisfied with what degree of affection she thought fit to bestow on him. She lifted her glass. "’Tis Sheila Patricia Kathleen O’Brien I’m called, but _you_ must be callin’ me Miss O’Brien." "Ach, so, of course. And I," he bowed deeply, "am Herr Schmidt, Miss O’Brien." The Atom’s heart rejoiced exceedingly. She put down her glass and slipped off her chair. Gravely she bowed her head, and the pig-tail stuck out with a rakish air of enjoyment. Reseating herself, she politely urged him to have some cake. "Now we are friends, I will interdruce you to my Snowy-Breasted Pearl, Mr. Hair Smitt. He is very beautiful. I couldn’t bring him with me, because, he preferred to stay in his cage." She eyed a red tooth-mark on her forefinger. "He is very high-spirited, you see. He is gold and brown and he has a white breast like pearls and snow, and he is white behind, too—just up over his extremes and both hind legs. Nell has painted him lots of times. You see, in the song, ’the snowy-breasted Pearl’ is a lady, but my _dear_ guinea-pig was so _’zact_, I crissened him that."