"I am not a baby. At home, gerrels of six will not be babies. I'm not
wantin' the stirabout at all, thank you."
"Sheila, you are speaking with an atrocious accent!"
For the first time that night the Atom's sombre eyes lit with a gleam of
satisfaction.
"Accent, is it? Sure and 'tisn't me own native accent I'd be ashamed of
then!" she retorted.
"It isn't the accent of ladies and gentlemen, Sheila! You are a rude and
foolish little girl!"
Calm and unabashed, the Atom responded with fervour.
"'Tis the way many of my best friends spake at home--always--wakin' and
sleepin' they spake like that, and I'll be spakin' like it, too."
With her black little head well up, and her absurd pig-tail at an acute
angle, she waited for Miss Kezia's response.
But Denis interposed from the doorway with a judicious appeal to her
sense of economy.
"I say, Aunt Kezia, I've lit your candle, and it's spluttering like a
dumb man asking for a tip!"
Miss Kezia turned and hurriedly left the room.
Molly suddenly pushed her bowl away with an angry clatter. She flung
her arms out over the table and hid her face in them.
"Oh, I can't--help it!" she cried out wildly. "Everything's so--awful!"
and she burst into tears.
Nell caught her underlip between her teeth and rose.
"Shan't we go to bed, Denis?" she said wearily.
"Yes, come along. K.K. may as well have the porridge. We've been
neglecting you, old lady, haven't we, then?"
The Atom sat rigid, her shocked gaze bent stiffly on Molly's prone head.
"Oh," sobbed Molly, "I shall die--in a week--here--I--hate Aunt Kezia--I
hate this house--I hate--everything! Oh, I want mother--and dad--"
The Atom got down stiffly from her chair, her gaze never leaving Molly.
Nell, in pity of the little white face, tried to put Kate Kearney into
her arms, but she drew back. "I don't want her," she said.
They crept upstairs and bade each other good night.
"I--I'm sure I'll be dead when I wake up in the morning!" Molly quavered
wretchedly. "I--can't breathe--in this place--there isn't room to
move--I shall suffocate."
Sheila Pat was to share Nell's room. She followed her in in silence.
They undressed quickly. The Atom said her prayers and got into bed.
Nell knelt down, but no prayers would come. She knelt and cried into
the counterpane.
After a while an austere voice smote upon her ear.
"Nell O'Brien, I'm thinkin' you're keepin' God up very late!"
Nell said a prayer--a somewhat incoherent one--and scrambled into bed.
An hour later she sat up and turned her pillow. She looked across at
the little white bed that glimmered over by the window; then she
burrowed her head despairingly down into the dry side of her pillow.
The sight of it, as she had lifted it to turn it over, had brought to
her mind the stout old rector at home. She remembered how Sheila Pat
had once earnestly declared he was so nice to lean against--"just like a
pillow." She quoted him beneath her breath, a humorous dimple denting
her wet cheek.
"'Let us now consider our blessings--never mind the bad things. Let
them go. Consider the good things. The bad things will have more than
their share of our thoughts, you may be very sure!'" So Nell got her
hands into position to tick off her blessings. "First, there's Denis."
She paused; her slim body grew tense with sudden horror, as the thought
gripped her: "Suppose Denis had gone, too!"
With an impulsiveness that was characteristic she slipped from the bed
to the floor, seized up her dressing-gown, ran out on to the landing and
upstairs to his room.
"Come in!"
She opened the door and was nearly blown backward down the stairs by the
gale that met her.
Denis was sitting up in bed.
"You, old girl? Anything up?"
She stood in the doorway, her dressing-gown streaming out around her,
her hair blowing across her face. She laughed uncertainly.
"Come out of that! Shut the door, you goose. And why on earth don't
you furl your sails? Anything wrong with the Atom?"
She shut the door with slow care.
"No," she said; "she's pretending to be asleep."
There was a little pause. She buttoned up her dressing-gown slowly.
"You're not walking in your sleep, are you?" he suggested, with a little
laugh. He swung himself off the bed and came towards her; he put his
hands on her shoulders. "Now, twin, out with it! What did you come
for, eh?"
She gave a little childish struggle under his warm hands; she looked up
into his face.
"I had to, Denis! A dreadful conviction has come upon me that she'll
give us soft-boiled eggs for breakfast!"
He swung her softly to and fro.
"Well, you needn't have come to give me nightmare just because you're
going to have it! Was it the action of a twin, I ask?"
She laughed softly, irresistibly.
"Oh, oh, Denis, your floor's swamped! What will Aunt Kezia say?"
He turned his head lazily and surveyed the floor over by the window.
"It'll dry," he observed with equanimity.
She eyed the window, flung as wide as it would go.
"You _mustn't_ have it so wide, Denis! You really mustn't!"
"D'you want to murder your twin? Why, I'd be dying of suffocation!
There're _roofs_ all round, Nell! Beastly houses stuck all on top of
us--almost in our back yard! I can't get a breath of air even now!"
The toilet cover was wildly fluttering its corners; a towel had been
blown from the towel horse and danced merrily in a corner; one curtain
was streaming, a wet limp rag, out into the night, the other was
whirling in graceful curves across the room; Denis's tie had twined
itself round the leg of a chair.
She gave a little laugh.
"If you won't shut the window, I will! And," glancing down at her bare
toes, "I don't feel the least bit inclined to paddle just now."
"Then don't."
"But you _will_ shut it--"
"But I won't!"
She looked out into the darkness where the curtain waved forlornly.
"Seriously, Denis--"
"Seriously, Nell, it's in bed you ought to be, not to mention your poor
twin!"
"You see, I've got a conscience."
"More noodle you! Go and sleep it off."
"Sure now, asthore, you'll not be refusin' your own twin?" she cooed.
"You're a beastly little humbug!"
He went across to the window and banged it down. The bang echoed
startlingly in the night.
"Oh, Denis, you've shut the curtain out!"
"Eh? Oh, well, it can stay out."
A loud whisper hissed with disconcerting suddenness through the keyhole.
"Denis O'Brien, are you asleep?"
Nell turned to him with a little gasp.
"Denis, I--I can't stand any more of her to-night!" Her small fingers
caught his arm with sudden desperation.
"Here, in you go!" He picked her up and deposited her in the bed.
"Keep quiet," he said peremptorily.
He emitted a loud and very realistic yawn.
"Denis O'Brien!"
"Is it dreaming I am?" he observed in a sleepy voice.
"Apparently you are!" came the sharp retort through the keyhole.
"Is that you, Aunt Kezia?" he queried in a surprised voice. "Isn't it
time you were in bed?"
"I wish to speak to you at once!"
"I'm here, close to the keyhole."
"Open the door!"
"Oh! Er--you know--my costume--rather primitive, you know--" His
absurd air of coyness brought an irrepressible giggle from the bed.
"Please don't try to be funny! Unlock your door at once!"
"It's never locked at all." He opened it so suddenly that Miss Kezia
nearly fell headlong into the room. He caught her in his arms. "Are
you hurt? Sure? Well, what is it now? A mouse? Let me go and kill
him!"
Miss Kezia had righted herself; she stood, candle in hand, glaring at
him angrily. The light flickered over her gaunt face and weird
night-cap, over the severe and scanty folds of her sombre dressing-gown.
"I heard a window closed," she began.
"Window? I say, Aunt Kezia, don't be nervous, but--er--don't London
burglars generally open windows? Let's find a poker. I," quoth he,
bravely, "will protect you."
"It--wasn't you?" Miss Kezia hesitated.
Apparently he did not hear. He was gently but firmly ejecting her from
his room. Together they searched the house, but found no suggestion of
a burglar. Miss Kezia went back reluctantly to her bed.
"Let us trust she'll be visited with a plague of nightmare burglars!"
Denis sent after her cheerfully.
Nell, creeping back to her room, heard through the half-open door a
murmur. She looked in, and saw a small pig-tailed figure sitting up in
bed clasping something black to its bosom.
"Oh, my own K.K.--did I say I wasn't wantin' you, asthore? 'Twas only
because I was frightened I'd cry, like that silly Molly. I didn't mean
it, K.K. Oh, I didn't! 'Twas cruel of me to say it, dear--" The murmur
was broken, full of tears.
Nell went back softly up a few stairs; then came down again, with a
little stumble and an "Oh!"
She could not help an apprehensive thought of Miss Kezia and burglars.
When she entered the bedroom Sheila Pat lay still, apparently fast
asleep.
Trotting across the floor, back to the petticoat she had purloined from
a chair, went a sedate little Kate Kearney.
*CHAPTER II*
"Four and threepence," said Denis, with his head up the chimney.
"Sure?" said Nell, doubtfully. "I've added it up three times, and it
hasn't come to that once."
"Then there's no doubt about it; four and threepence 'tis, my dear!"
A pause. A scream.
"Oh, Denis, rescue them!"
A horrible smell of burning ensued. Denis eyed the smoking stockings
with equanimity.
"O dear," sighed Nell, "and there was only one tiny hole in them. It's
all your fault, Denis. You shouldn't be rude to me, when your head's
such a beautiful target."
But Denis had emerged from the chimney, and was quietly smoking his
cigarette in the open room.
"Jolly good idea, old girl. Twig? Every time I want to do a smoke,
we'll burn a pair of stockings--they'd out-smell Patsy O'Driscoll's
cigars!"
"Denis," Nell spoke with a puckered brow, "how much _is_ five cakes when
they're four for threepence halfpenny?"
"Nell, your grammar! It makes me feel faint!"
"'Are,' then. You're only trying to gain time. Oh, Atom, don't move!
Kate Kearney's splendid like that. I _must_ get her."
Denis looked over her shoulder as she dashed in a rapid pencil sketch.
He glanced across at Molly and winked. It was a family joke that
everything Nell began--accounts, sewing, tidying-up--ended, on the
slightest possible pretext, in a sketch.
"Oh, Denis," Molly besought nervously, "I _know_ Aunt Kezia will smell
your cigarette!"
He struck an attitude.
"I defy her! Shall an O'Brien be cowed by a Scotch woman, and in his
stronghold, too? Shall a young man who is also a bank clerk be
frightened of a mere ignoramusess--oh, Lor', Molly, hide me--hide
me--here she comes!"
Molly flung down the stocking she was darning.
"Oh, Denis!" she gasped, jumping up and knocking over her chair. "Oh--"
But Denis had subsided on to the old lounge, with his head buried in the
cushion, and Molly realised she had been "had." She made a wild rush at
him, K.K. joined in the fray, and Nell's model was gone.
"Pommel me as much as you like," cried he, weakly. "That's the third
time to-day you've swallowed Aunt Kezia!"
"I should think she would be rather indigestible," opined Nell, putting
in a few finishing touches. "Denis, what do you think of the way these
chrysanthemums have faded? Only two days, and they cost half a crown!"
"I'll get you some more."
Nell looked thoughtful; she stubbed her paper viciously.
"I begin to fancy paupers oughtn't to indulge in flowers."
"Oh, Irish paupers ought," he declared airily.
The Atom arose, shook out her skirts, and proceeded to the door.
"Where are you going, Sheila Pat?"
"Downstairs," was the staid reply.
Once outside, she stopped to smooth her hair; then she stood
considering, with a thoughtful brow. She went into her bedroom, dragged
a chair to the toilet table, scrambled on to it, and anxiously examined
the pair of slim legs displayed in the glass. What she saw displeased
her; she stamped angrily, and toppled off the chair with a crash.
"What's up?" came a musical shout from the direction of the
"Stronghold."
"Nothin' at all!" responded the Atom, with unabated dignity, though she
was obliged for the moment to stand on one leg. She waited a minute,
then lifting her loose frock, wiggled round and round in her efforts to
unfasten her petticoat. She managed it at last, shook it down to her
ankles, and mounted the chair again to view the effect. Her anxious face
fell; she sighed heavily, and slowly climbed to the floor. She fumbled
at the fastening of her petticoat, pulling it well up, then left the
room. She went down the stairs till she reached the last flight that
faced the front door. She sat down on the top stair and waited. The
dusk deepened; the clock ticked on and on down in the hall, but the
little pale face glimmered patiently at the top of the stairs.
Presently a key grated in the lock of the door; Sheila Pat rose. The
door opened, and a big broad man in a huge ulster came heavily in.
Sheila Pat took a dignified step forward, missed, in the dusk, the
stair, and rolled down and down to the big man's feet.
"Ach!" exclaimed the big man, and then he made noises that interested
Sheila Pat, because they made her think of the hens in Biddy O'Regan's
cottage. She rose; her cheeks were scarlet with shame.
"Are you hurrt?" exclaimed the big man.
"Not at all. Please," said the Atom, with a dignity a good deal bigger
than herself, "please don't mention it. 'Tis a visit I've come to pay
you," she added.
"Ach!" said the big man again.
Over a large and very fierce mustache, all grey bristles, his eyes were
twinkling down at her.
"Pray come in," he said, and opened the door of the room opposite the
dining room. The Atom's face kindled triumphantly as she looked round.
Miss Kezia's grim voice seemed to hover alluringly round the solid
mahogany chairs and table.
"You are not to enter this room. Remember, I have forbidden you."
Sheila Pat climbed on to one of the big chairs and sat down with a
complacent smile.
Herr Schmidt eyed her anxiously.
"You are quite sure you are not hurt, meine liebe? It was a bad fall, a
very bad fall."
Sheila Pat looked surprised. As a matter of fact her left elbow was
smarting badly, and her left ankle bone, too, but in the O'Brien
phraseology, this did not signify a "hurt." Moreover she objected to
his alluding again to her undignified entrance into the hall. She gave
her skirts a pull, and turned the conversation.
"How-d'you-do?" she said.
He came forward and gravely shook hands.
"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."
"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?"