"Sure, dear, if the gentleman gave it to you. But what sort of a gentleman was it?"
Nelly described him as well as she could, the old woman nodding and making a clucking noise with her tongue. Her imagination was already seeing in the stranger one of the Butlers of Glengall, come to find out all about herself and her grand-child and to carry them back to all the splendours of Kilmane Park.
"Do you know who it was, granny?" asked Nelly, observing all these signs of intelligence.
"Ta-ta! Never you mind, dear; but eat your supper and get your work. I'll carry your milk for you the night. I know what I know, and I guess what I guess. Yellow hair and blue eyes! Yes, yes,—the very moral of them!" murmured the old woman, as she sought her pails and measures. "Just what my father was!"
"Pshaw!" said Nelly; "you are just thinking of some of those rubbishing old Butlers. I wish there had never been any such people in the world; and I don't half believe there ever were."
It was, perhaps, as well for Nelly's peace that Granny Ryan was making too much noise with her tin pails to hear this irreverent speech. Nelly would certainly have had the milk to carry round herself; and so have lost the chance of sitting down on the door-step and working at her tatting. She hastily finished her supper, and, without once thinking of washing her hands, she sat down on the door-step with her work. What was her vexation to find that she had lost the stitch again! Nelly could have cried over her own stupidity, and was almost tempted to give the matter up in despair; but she reflected that, as she had done it once, there must be a way of doing it again. She remembered Miss Powell's story of her own experience, and, like her, determined not to be beaten by a bit of thread. She tried it faithfully, this way and that; and, after a whole hour of steady application, she had the satisfaction of seeing her scollops draw up into circles, more or less regular and firm.
Here was a great triumph! She had actually learned something,—and by herself, too! It was a triumph, greater than Nelly herself knew. She had not only persevered and conquered a difficulty, but she had conquered herself at the same time. She felt very much encouraged, as she had reason to do; and, as she contemplated her work, she thought, "If I can learn to make tatting, why can't I learn to read?" She had already determined that the first day she went down town she would buy a lesson-book with her ten cents. But here arose a difficulty: she did not know what book to inquire for.
"Well, Nelly, you did not come after your piece of cake," said Mrs. Vandake, stopping at the gate as she was passing along. "Did you put the letter into the office?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered Nelly; "but I had to go after the cow the minute I came home. Please, Mrs. Vandake," she added, "do you know what books children have when they first learn to read?"
"Why, yes; there are several books. There is the First Reader, and the Primary Spelling-Book, and a good many others. Do you want one, Nelly?"