"Of course Betsy would make a griddle cake at any time," said Clodagh promptly; "only we couldn't eat it—after yours."
For a moment Hannah made no response; then she gave another disdainful whisk to her apron and attacked the saucepan with renewed force.
Clodagh said nothing, but took a step forward. Her cheeks were bright and her eyes danced with mischief and amusement. As her foot touched the paving stones of the yard, Hannah raised her head.
"I suppose 'twill be at wan ye'll be wantin' the lunch?" she said in a suddenly lowered and mollified voice; and Clodagh responded with a laugh of triumph and delight.
Outside in the sunshine of the yard, she laughed again.
"Hannah is an old duck!" she said. "She is always getting as cross as two sticks, and then forgetting all about it. Nobody could help teasing her. But where's Larry gone to? Larry! Larry!"
There was a pause, a stamping of horse's hoofs, and the sound of a voice whispering affectionate injunctions to an unseen animal; then young Laurence Asshlin emerged from the stables, leading his chestnut cob.
He was a well-made, long-limbed boy of fourteen, with skin as smooth and eyes as clear as Clodagh's own.
"Hullo, Clo!" he exclaimed. "That was a straight shot, wasn't it? Was she mad?"
"Pretty mad," responded Clodagh. "This is Mr. Milbanke. He came last night."