"Larry Flood, Miss," prompted the old woman eagerly. "A little ugly sleveen of a fellow—with a lip on him, would trip a goat!"
"Now, Biddy, how can you be so spiteful," remonstrated Katie, with a laugh, "and all just because he wants to marry Sally."
"That's the name—Larry Flood," continued Helen. "I told him I would walk, and he left my bag at the—the gate."
"Oh! so you came by the old avenue! and a nice way Larry treated you! Just wait till I see him," said Dido. "How long were you at the door, Helen?"
"About five minutes."
"And why on earth did you not come in?"
"I was looking for the bell or the knocker," she answered rather diffidently.
"And you might have been looking for a week, my dear! They are conspicuous by their absence. We don't stand on ceremony here; you either hammer with a stone—there is one left on the steps for that express purpose, only, of course, you never guessed its use—or you dispense with the stone, and walk in—the door stands open all day long,—precisely as you see it."
"But, of course, you shut it after dark?"
"Yes, in a fashion; we put a chair against it just to keep the sheep from coming in! The lock is broken—it was taken off weeks ago by Micky the smith, and he has never brought it back yet. Now, I see you are horrified, Helen!—but this is not London—there are no thieves or housebreakers about, and we are as safe as if we had twenty locks and bolts. Here, Biddy," to the old servant, "Miss Denis is starving; bring up the cold fowl, and some more of those hot cakes, as fast as ever you can. Helen, give me your hat and jacket, and sit down in this arm-chair this minute, and relate every one of your adventures without delay."