"They tell me ye take photographs?" interrogated "the Miss" in a high lachrymose Cork accent.
"Yes, all sorts. I came out here to do the temples, but I'm glad of any job," replied Mallender, now lying with the fluency of Anthony himself.
"Well, these children have been bothering the life out of me, so I suppose I bid to let you take them," and she glanced at Francis, who represented as he stood a living thundercloud.
This permission was received with rapture by the young people; the boys made diabolical grimaces at each other, and the little girl flung her arms round the neck of "the Miss" and nearly strangled her with a hug.
"Oh, well, ye can do a group," she gasped, "and if it comes out all right, we may have the bungalow."
"Yes, and the horses and dogs, and the new motor, and the monkey!" supplemented the child, as she clapped her hands, and skipped about.
"Now, Mota, you be quiet," commanded "the Miss"; then turning to Mallender, and pointing to his portfolio in Anthony's hands, "I'd like to have a look at your things, young man."
"Certainly," answered the photographer, "with pleasure."
"Ye talk like a gentleman, so ye do," she remarked, as she considered Mallender with a pair of sharp grey eyes.
"I—I," taken a little aback,—"have been fairly well educated."