"Then I hope you will force him—if his health suffers."
"Thank you for saying that," said Mrs. Barham, eagerly. "My husband is just as anxious as I am about our son, but he won't speak. He says a man must work out the problem of life for himself. I say we old ones should help the young with our experience."
Molly here entered, staggering under a tea-tray laden with the teapot and crackers and jam. She set it down, sweeping to right and left the books on the table; then, with a mighty sigh, which seemed as though it would burst every button in her bodice, she placed her arms akimbo, and stood awaiting further instructions.
"You might bring some milk, Molly," observed Mrs. Barham, in mild remonstrance. Then, lifting the lid of the teapot, "Are you sure the water boiled?"
"Faith, m'm, I thought ye wanted your tay in a hurry, and for once it didn't matther."
A distressed look came over her mistress's face. "It always must boil, Molly. I have told you so before. Could not the cook have put it on the fire sooner?"
"She an' me was helpin' Pat Malone wid the lady's box, which was that big we had the divil's own work to get it upstairs, m'm."
"Do not speak of the devil's work in that light way," said her master, sternly.
"I wasn't manein' to sphake of him in a light way, sorr, for indade it was mighty heavy, and—"
"Well," interrupted her mistress, quickly, "you might run and make some fresh tea—for this is hardly warm; and mind the water boils this time." Having thus got rid of the irrepressible Hibernian housemaid, Mrs. Barham turned to her guest, with a piteous smile. "These helps are our greatest trial. They come over here raw—very raw—material. If one gets an honest girl like this, one must put up with her faults. One dare not get rid of her for fear of getting something worse."