“That one’ll never see youth again, no matther how ould she may be,” Julia said. “The only signs of youth ye’d see on her is when she do be stridin’ across the paddock in her bathin’ clothes; all other times she looks as ould as McFadden’s pig, with the look of trouble she have on her. I dunno why wouldn’t she take life aisy instead of writin’ all day an’ all night as well: an’ they say there’s no end to her riches. ’Tisn’t meself ’ud worrk if I had them.”
“How is Mrs. Winter?” I asked, to change the subject. I knew I should not listen to Julia’s opinions of her mistress, but I had a guilty joy in doing so, nevertheless.
“Her spache is no aisier to the poor woman, but her spirits is good. I rubbed her shesht for her last night till I nearly brought the blood, an’ then I gave her a good hot glass of lemon an’ other things to comfort her—roarin’ at me she was to stop long before I’d finished. She have flannin on it to-day, she’s afther tellin’ me, with oil on it, to soothe the rawness. There’s nothin’ like a good rub to get rid of a cold an’ keep it from settlin’ on the shesht. Don’t be worryin’ yourself about her; she told me to tell you she felt gay as a lark!”
“She has great endurance,” I said solemnly.
Julia twinkled.
“I dunno would you have said so if you’d heard her last night,” she said with a grin. “ ‘Lave me,’ says she, ‘while I have anny skin left on me body!’ ‘I will not lave you,’ I says, ’till I have you in a nice, plisant glow!’ ’Tis the grand muscle I have for rubbin’, along of polishin’ the floors, an’ I med good use of it on her. She’ll be the betther of it this manny a day.”
“Will you rub me, Julia, if I get a cold?” I asked, as well as I could for laughter.
“I will that same.”
“Then I won’t get one,” I said firmly. “Julia, the tea was lovely, and I could talk to you for a week—but I must get up. I wish it was time for me to put on my white frock, for it was never ironed so beautifully in its life!”
The Irish girl beamed.