The Real Charlotte. 67 



Julia Duffy did not come out to meet her visitor, and 

 when Charlotte walked into the kitchen, she found that the 

 mistress of the house was absent, and that three old women 

 were squatted on the floor in front of the fire, smoking short 

 clay pipes, and holding converse in Irish that was punctuated 

 with loud sniffs and coughs. At sight of the visitor the 

 pipes vanished in the twinkling of an eye, and one of the 

 women scrambled to her feet. 



" Why, Mary HoUoran, what brings you here ? " said 

 Charlotte, recognising the woman who lived in the Rose- 

 mount gate lodge. 



"It was a sore leg I have, yer honour, miss," whined 

 Mary HoUoran ; " it's running with me now these three 

 weeks, and I come to thry would Miss Duffy give me a bit 

 o' a plashther." 



"Take care it doesn't run away with you altogether," 

 rephed Charlotte facetiously; "and where's Miss Duffy 

 herself? " 



" She's sick, the craythure," said one of the other women, 

 who, having found and dusted a chair, now offered it to 

 Miss Mullen ; " she have a wakeness like in her head, and 

 an impression on her heart, and Billy Grainy came afthei 

 Peggy Roche here, the way she'd mind her." 



Peggy Roche groaned slightly, and stirred a pot of smutty 

 gruel with an air of authority. 



" Could I see her, d'ye think ? " asked Charlotte, sitting 

 down and looking about her with sharp appreciation of the 

 substantial excellence of the smoke-blackened walls and 

 grimy woodwork. " There wouldn't be a better kitchen in 

 the country," she thought, " if it was properly done up." 



" Ye can, asthore, ye can go up," replied Peggy Roche, 

 " but wait a while till I have the sup o' grool hated, and 

 maybe yerselfll take it up to herself." 



" Is she eating nothing but that ?" asked Charlotte, view- 

 ing the pasty compound with disgust. 



" Faith, 'tis hardly she'll ate that itself." Peggy Roche ; 

 rose as she spoke, and, going to the dresser, returned with a 

 black bottle. " As for a bit o' bread, or a pratie, or the like 

 o' that, she couldn't use it, nor let it past her shest ; with 

 respects to ye, as soon as she'd have it shwallied it'd come 

 up as simple and as pleashant as it wint down." She Hfted 



