The Real Charlotte. 245 



day gone bating it, and afther all they left it afther 

 thim ! " 



" And whose fault was that but your own for not sending 

 it up in time ? " rejoined Cb.arlotte, her voice sharpening at 

 once to vociferative argument ; " Miss Francie told me that 

 Mr. Dysart was forced to go without liis tea." 



" Late or early I'm thinkin' thim didn't ax it nor want it," 

 replied Norry, issuing from the larder with a basketful of 

 crumpled linen in her arms, and a visage of the utmost 

 sourness ; " there's your clothes for ye now, that was waitin' 

 on me yestherday to iron them, in place of makin' cakes." 



She got a bowl of water and began to sprinkle the clothes 

 and roll them up tightly, preparatory to ironing them, her 

 ill-temper imparting to the process the air of whipping a 

 legion of children and putting them to bed. Charlotte 

 came over to the table, and, resting her hands on it, watched 

 Norry for a few seconds in silence. 



" What makes you say they didn't want anything to eat?" 

 she asked ; " was Miss Francie ill, or was anything the 

 matter with her ? " 



" How do I know what ailed her ? " replied Norry, 

 pounding a pillow-case with her fist before putting it away ; 

 " I have somethin' to do besides followin' her or mindin' her." 



** Then what are ye talking about ? " 



" Ye'd betther ax thim that knows. 'Twas Louisa seen 

 her within in the dhrawn'-room, an' whatever was on her 

 she was cryin' ; but, sure^ Louisa tells lies as fast as a pig'd 

 gallop." 



" What did she say ? " Charlotte darted the question at 

 Norry as a dog snaps at a piece of meat. 



" Then she said plinty, an' 'tis she that's able. If ye told 

 that one a thing and locked the doore on her the way she 

 couldn't tell it agin, she'd bawl it up the chimbley." 



" Where's Louisa ? " interrupted Charlotte impatiently. 



" Meself can tell ye as good as Louisa," said Norry 

 instantly taking offence ; " she landed into the dhrawn'-room 

 with the tay, and there was Miss Francie sittin' on the sofa 

 and her handkerchief in her eyes, and Misther Dysart be- 

 yond in the windy and not a word nor a stir out of him, 

 only with his eyes shtuck out in the garden, an' she crvin' 

 always.'* 



