“Well, no, Master Dick; that isn’t exactly the school fer ye children. That’s the jail,—the county jail, so it is.”
“Oh,” cried Dolly, in dismay; “I don’t want to go to school to a jail! Where is the school-house, Patrick?”
“There’s three of ’em, Miss Dolly. But the grandest is that white house ferninst, an’ I’m thinkin’ ye’ll go there.”
“Are my aunts very grand, Patrick?”
“Oh, yes, miss. We’re the quality of the hull place. There’s nobody like the Danas.”
“That’s nice,” said Dolly, with a little air of satisfaction.
“Huh,” said Dick; “what sort of a country do you think this is, Dolly? Everybody is as good as everybody else. Why do you talk that way, Pat?”
“Well, sor, it may be. But everybody in Heatherton, they thinks Miss Rachel and Miss Abbie is top o’ the heap, you see.”
“All right,” returned Dick. “I don’t mind if we are. But what about the Middletons? Aren’t they nice people?”
Pat’s face clouded. “Don’t be askin’ me about the Middletons,” he said; “I’ve nothin’ to say for or agin ’em. Now, if so be’s you want to see them chickens, come ahead.”