She got down on her knees and buried the potatoes in the burning peat. Then she took a little broom that stood near by, and tidied up the hearth.
Larry took the kettle to the well for more water. He slopped a good deal of it as he came back. It made great spots of mud, for there was no wooden floor—only hard earth with flat stones set in it.
“Arrah now, Larry, you do be slopping things up the equal of a thunderstorm,” Eileen said to him.
“Never you mind that, now, Larry,” said Grannie Malone. “It might have been that the kettle leaked itself, and no fault of your own at all! Sure, a bit of water here or there does nobody any harm.”
She hung the tea-kettle on the hook over the fire again. Then she brought the cakeen and put it into a small iron baking-kettle, and put a cover over it. She put turf on top of the cover. “’Twill not be long until it’s baked,” said Grannie, “and you can be watching it, Eileen, while I set out the table.”
She pulled a little wooden table out before the fire, put three plates and three cups on it, some salt, and the jug of milk. Meanwhile Larry was out trying to shut the hens into the little shelter beside the house. But he couldn’t get them all in. One old speckled hen ran round the house to the door. Larry ran after her. The hen flew up on top of the half-door. She was very much excited. “Cut-cut-cut,” she squawked.
“Cut-cut yourself now!” cried Grannie Malone.
She ran toward the door, waving her spoon. “Shoo along out of this with your bad manners!” she cried.
Just that minute Larry came up behind the hen and tried to catch her by the legs.
“Cut-cut-cut-a-cut,” squawked old Speckle; and up she flew, right over Grannie’s head, into the rafters! Then she tucked herself cozily down to go to sleep.