"Thank you," said Adrienne; "but if you would show me where my room is—I am so tired."
"Oh, yes," said Rosie; "and I'll get you some—" but the end of her sentence was lost as she ran out of the room.
The variation of "St. Patrick's Day" was growing so intricate that Murtagh was completely absorbed by it. Mrs. Donegan was picking up books and toys from the floor; there was nothing for Adrienne to do but to sit down and wait.
"You do look tired, Ma'am," said Mrs. Donegan, presently, pausing with a broken Noah's ark in her hand. "I think, Master Murtagh, I'll go and send the tea in at once. There's no use waitin' for Miss Winnie and Master Bobbo."
"Fire away," grunted Murtagh, from the piano. His music was very good, and Adrienne began to think it pleasant to listen to as she lay back in the big chair.
But in another moment the music was interrupted by a collision of some kind, and then a confusion of voices in the hall.
"Whatever are you thinking of, Master Bobbo?" came out in Donnie's energetic tones.
"I do wish you'd look where you're going, Donnie; you've nearly knocked me into the middle of next week!" retorted a hearty boy's voice.
"Hurrah! here they are," cried Murtagh; and he started up and dashed into the hall. There was some whispering outside the door; and then Bobbo and Murtagh entered the room, followed by Winnie.
Bobbo was a pleasant, strong-looking boy, with clear eyes, rosy cheeks, and a turned-up nose.