VIII
THE GREEN DOOR
"Of all the childer I've iver seen he's the worst," Norah cried. "He's as sharp as tacks, and as bad as a young magpie."
She had come into the sitting room, and stood regarding my mother at her sewing.
"What is the matter, Norah?" my mother demanded, anxiously.
"It's Dick, ma'am. What else should it be? Ain't I been after making a grand gingerbread for your lunch? And ain't he under your own bed this blessèd moment?"
She paused for breath, almost crying, and wringing her hands.