"Dido, Dido! do you want to boil the mignonette, and all the unfortunate flowers?"
Emboldened by this sound, the new arrival rapped loudly on the door with her knuckles, and the same melodious brogue called out,—
"If that's you, Judy, no eggs to-day!"
"'Deed then, Miss Katie," expostulated a somewhat aged and cracked organ, "I'm not so sure of that.—We are rather tight in eggs, and you were talking of a cake, when the young lady comes——"
By this time the young lady had advanced to the threshold and looked in. She beheld a large, shabby dining-room, with three long windows, heavy old furniture, and faded hangings; a stout girl with fair curly hair, sitting with her back to the door, knitting a sock; her slender sister—presumably that Dido, who was working such destruction among the flowers—was stooping over a green stand covered with plants, which she was busily watering, with the contents of a small copper tea-urn; and a little trim old woman, in a large frilled cap, was in the act of removing the tea things. Helen's light footfall on the matting was inaudible, and she had ample time to contemplate the scene, ere the servant, who was just lifting the tray, laid it down and ejaculated,—
"The Lord presarve us!"
The girl with the tea-urn turned quickly round, and dropping her impromptu watering-pot, cried,—
"It's Helen, it must be cousin Helen!" running to her, and embracing her. "You are as welcome as the flowers in May. This is Katie,—I'm Dido.—We went to meet you in the morning by the twelve o'clock train; how in the world did you get here?"
All this poured out without stop, or comma, in a rich and rapid brogue.
"I missed the early train and came on by the next. I got a seat on the post-car, but the horse ran away and upset us, so I preferred to walk to the end of my journey. I told the man, Larry ——, Larry ——"