The supper bell sounded above the din, and out into the dining-room tumbled the twelve, singing at the top of their lungs, “For lightness of foot there was not his peer;”—and clasping hands in a great circle, they danced round and round the table before taking their places.
The only one to keep her hair unruffled through the performance was Princess Feena. No matter how often the young Malones ended a reel in “all hands around,” she looked as royally calm at the end as at the beginning.
After living with the Malones for a whole winter, Kathleen found the dainty little lady as adorable as ever. Now, on St. Patrick’s Day, just a year from the time Aunt Hannah’s letter had reached her in far Donegal, Kathleen had grown so fond of the whole jolly, noisy family, that she wondered how she had ever lived anywhere else.
Danny, also, had made a place for himself and was earning good wages in the linen shop. Not a holiday had he taken in the whole winter until this seventeenth of March, when he entered the sports.
“Ireland was always famous for her athletes,” said his uncle, as he began serving supper to the hungry brood.
“Haven’t you been doing anything to make your name famous, Kathleen mavourneen?” he asked kindly.
Kathleen blushed to find everyone looking at her and waiting for her answer.
“Speak up, for the honor of old Donegal,” said Deena.
“I saw her standing before the whole class with a paper in her hand the other day,” said Anna. “It looked as if she were reading it.”
“Confess, confess!” cried Deena. “Don’t hide anything from us. Let us know the worst at once.”