"I wish you would be so goot as to sing the song to me, Miss O’Brien." "Is it me sing? Oh, yes. But it’s rather long. Do you think you’d get tired of it at all?" He denied such a possibility with horror. "My mouth is rather full of cake, Mr. Hair Smitt. Do you mind waitin’ a little?" The cake disposed of, she lifted up a sweet little voice, and sang:— "’There’s a colleen fair as May, For a year and for a day I have sought by ev’ry way Her heart to gain. "’There’s no art of tongue or eye Fond youths with maidens try, But I’ve tried with ceaseless sigh, Yet tried in vain.’" (Pause.) "I’m afraid I forget some," the Atom confessed, ashamed. "But I know all the parts about my guinea-pig," she added anxiously. "Will you sing those parts?" he asked courteously. She began again:— "’Oh, thou bloomin’ milk-white dove To whom I’ve given my love, Do not ever thus reprove My consancy. "’For if not mine, dear boy, Oh, snowy-breasted pearl, May I never from the fair With life return.’ "It _ought_ to be ’girl’ to rhyme with ’pearl,’ but, you see, he _isn’t_ a girl, so I made up ’boy’ myself. Doesn’t the song fit him _beautifully_?" The door had been left ajar; a small black nose inserted itself in the crack with a pathetic snort. "It is your little dog!" Herr Schmidt exclaimed. "Come in! Come in!" He gave a great fat laugh. "Come in!" Sheila Pat slipped to the floor. "She’s shy," she explained, and went and opened the door wide. Kate Kearney trotted in, sleek and black, giving little scriggles of love as she came. She rubbed herself against the Atom’s legs, she licked her hand, she lifted superlatively great innocent eyes. "Kate Kearney, what is it you’ve been doin’?" the Atom said. K.K. went into an ecstasy of adoration; she jumped and licked the Atom’s cheek, she wriggled, she ran to and fro, she gave short little whimpers, and she turned a reproachful, widely innocent gaze upon the Atom’s suspicious countenance. Sheila Pat laughed proudly. "She always looks burstin’ with goodness when she’s been doin’ somethin’ bad," she said. "She is a beautiful little dog." "She got first prize at the dog show, in the cocker spaniel puppy class, an’ a ’Highly Commended’ in the open class." "Ach!" said Herr Schmidt. "Aunt Kezia doesn’t like her. Molly says she would if she was a cat, because old maids always like cats, but Sarah says she won’t let her give scraps to the poor starvin’ creatures at all. Kate Kearney mostly stays in the Stronghold with us. Denis ’gested the name. Isn’t it a good one? It’s our very own room, you see, and Aunt Kezia’s the enemy we keep—" There was a jerk, a pause. Herr Schmidt, peering across at her, saw an agonised wave of red mount to her very brow. "I—I think I’d better be goin’ now," but she did not move. He took a step towards her.