The room began to grow dim. Miss Kezia knitted on in the dusk, hoping the Atom would fall asleep. Suddenly her voice, shrill, impish, rang out:—
"'The ould dame sat in a stiff'-backed chair,
Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, click!
Sure she knitted of stockin's sixteen pair
Click-clack, click!
Her face was long and her temper short
Piff-pouff, piff-pouff, piff-pouff, piff!
Sure she worked in bad words more than she ought
Piff-pouff, piff!'"
A chuckle.
"Are you cross, Aunt Kezia?"
"No."
"Why aren't you? Don't you think I asserve a cold?"
"You were naughty and foolish, and you are paying for it, but—" after a glance at the figure sitting up in the dusk, "I am sorry for you."
"I don't want you to be sorry for me!"
Sheila Pat flung herself back.
"'Her mouth was wide and her tongue was sharp'—