“Mrs Kinsella, ma’am,” whispered Patsy.
“What is it, Patsy?” answered the cook.
“Let’s go back, for it’s afeared I am.”
“You come along,” answered the cook.
She knocked at a door, a voice answered “Come in”; she opened the door and, followed by Patsy, entered a pleasantly furnished room, where a stately-looking old lady sat by a great fire of holly logs which was blazing on the hearth.
This was Lady Seagrave herself, and Patsy looked at her with awe, for she was seventy-nine years of age, and as deaf as a post. People said she remembered the Battle of Waterloo, and some of the more ignorant country people said she had been at it. Patsy could almost have believed this as he stood looking at her, for she was a very fierce-looking old lady, with heavy eyebrows, a large nose, and bright, piercing eyes. She was beautifully dressed, and her fingers were covered with sparkling rings; she held an ear-trumpet to her ear.
“This is Patsy Rooney, your ladyship,” cried Mrs Kinsella through the trumpet. “I’ve washed him and brushed him to make him a bit respectable, for it’s wild in the woods he’s been runnin’ this last two years, ever since his mother died.”
“Oh, this is Patsy Rooney, is it?” said Lady Seagrave. “Hum! he looks wild enough still, but I daresay time and soap will work wonders. Is he honest, cook?”
“As honest a lad as your ladyship would find in the length and breadth of the land,” replied Mrs Kinsella.
“Have you explained to him that I wish him to enter my service in the capacity of page-boy?”