"Oh," said Henrietta, "I haven't a notion where to look for it." She yawned as she spoke. "These long drives do make one so sleepy," she said.
"You don't seem interested in anything, Henny. You are an old goose!"
"Am I? Well, that's better than being a young gosling."
"By the way," said Daisy, "I remember a lovely story. I know it is true, for a girl at our dear old school told it to me. It happened to a lady she knew, and she said it was as true as paint. It was this: There was a very, very stout old body—oh, monstrous stout, but not really ill, only hypochondriacal, and of course she was always and forever sending for the doctor. He was a country doctor, but he had a sense of humour in him. One day the old dame said to Doctor Macgregor, 'Doctor, I'm about to visit London.' 'Are ye now that?' said he. You see, she was an Irish body and she spoke the Irish brogue. 'And is it you that will cross the sea, Miss Marmaduke?' 'Yes, to be sure,' she answered; 'and why not?' 'Well,' said the doctor, who was a bit of a wag, 'ye'll be mighty sick, ye know.' 'I suppose I will,' she answered. 'Maybe I'll die. But I've a great longing to see London town.' 'Ye won't die,' said the doctor, 'if that is what ye are thinking of. But ye'll be mighty uncomfortable with all that fat on yer body. You'll wish yourself safe back in Dublin, that ye will.' 'Well, anyway, I'm going,' said the stout lady, 'and I'll tell ye what it is, Doctor Macgregor, I don't think ye make half enough of my illness and suffering.' 'Me not think enough of them!' said he. 'Why, I'm thinking of them day and night.' 'Well, to be sure, are ye now,' said the lady. 'But there is one thing I must say to you, doctor, you haven't a sympathetic manner.' 'It doesn't do for a doctor to be sympathetic with his patients,' said the doctor. 'Sympathy would kill them off like flies.' 'I am surprised to hear ye say that,' said the stout lady; 'I should have thought it would have done them a power of good. Well, anyway, ye must acknowledge that I am ill.' 'Oh, very ill, ma'am; very ill entirely.' 'Then I think as I am going to London,' said the stout lady, 'that you might write a letter to the cleverest doctor there—an Irishman if ye can find one—and give me the letter to take to him, and I'll be bound I'll get out what is the matter with me.' 'Well, to be sure, I'll do that,' said the doctor. 'I know the very man, too—Malony of Harley Street. When are ye going to cross the briny?' 'To-morrow as ever is,' she replied. 'Well, I'll give ye a note to Malony which will clinch the business. Ye mustn't be frightened at anything he says to ye, for ye must remember ye have brought it on yourself.'
"So the next day that wag of a fellow brought her a letter and told her to call on the great Doctor Malony and put his letter carefully into the hands of the great man, and to make up her mind for a really bad verdict. The stout old lady was delighted, for she loved bad verdicts. She got on board the boat and as the sea was rough, she suffered a good deal from sickness; but the sicker she was the more she liked herself, and the worse she was the tighter she clasped Doctor Macgregor's letter in her hand. The sea certainly was rough, and most of the passengers were sick, and the stewardess brought the fat old lady some brandy and water to drink. The boat gave a great roll that moment and lo and behold! in a minute the beautiful letter which was to seal the stout lady's doom was sopped through and through with brandy and water. She felt angry for a moment, but then it flashed through her mind that she'd open it, for it was quite soft like pulp, and she would be able to see for herself what Doctor Macgregor said about his patient. 'At the least, it must be the beginning of cancer,' she murmured. 'Dear, dear, dear! But anyhow, he'll tell the truth to a brother physician, and it is as well for me to know.'
"Well, Henny-penny, what do you think? They were getting towards the harbour then, and it wasn't so rough, and she was able to read the words inside the letter; and if ever a woman's eyes dilated and if ever her heart throbbed, the fat old lady's did then, for Doctor Macgregor's letter was brief and to the point: 'Dear Malony,' it ran, 'I am sending you a fat goose. Pluck her well and send her back to me!' You may be quite sure, Henny-penny, that the fat old lady never went near Malony; but she tore the letter in little bits and went to a quack, who told her she had innumerable illnesses, all jumbled together, and if there was any chance of her life, she must undergo at least four operations; so she was as happy as the day was long. I declare you have scarcely smiled, and I doing my level best to amuse you! Well, here we are back at Templemore. Now then, jump out. I'm starving for tea if you aren't."
The girls went into the house. Maureen and Kitty were away. Neither Dominic nor Denis were anywhere to be found, and the Rector was as usual visiting his sick and sorry parishioners.
The girls took their tea soberly, Henrietta hardly thinking at all and feeling half asleep, but Daisy's brain being, as usual, very much on the alert. When tea was a thing of the past and Burke had cleared away all traces of it from the great hall, Daisy made her invariable remark: "How many new-laid eggs and how much peach-jam did you eat in the kitchen to-night, Burke?"
Burke stared glumly at the young lady, and made no answer of any sort; Daisy lost her temper a little and flew at Burke and said, "You are a nasty thief of an old man."
"If you plaze, miss, ye'll have the goodness to lave me alone," Burke replied. He then walked with a dignity which the girl herself would never possess out of the hall and in the direction of the kitchens.