Clodagh looked at her wonderingly.
"Indeed I would," she said. "But then," she went on, "though I am afraid you do not like me to say it, I know you are a——"
"S-sh. Never mind about that. Come with me," was the reply.
It was still very early. No one was about. Cousin Felicity took the girl's hand and turned to re-enter the house by a different way from that by which Clodagh had come. But before doing so, she stopped a moment and waved her tiny hand as if in adieu to the beehive.
"Thanks many," her companion heard her murmur. "You did your work well last night," and to Clodagh she went on, with a twinkle in her bright eyes, "Were you pleased with what you found this morning—the new trunk and all?"
"Pleased!" exclaimed the girl rapturously, "I couldn't believe my eyes. Not that I mind work," she went on, "I think I can soon learn to pack and unpack cleverly. It is the responsibility of all the things, the terror of losing them, that distresses me."
"Yes, yes," said her friend, "I understand. I do not mean to do all your work for you. It is the industrious and active, not the idle and lazy, that"—and here she gave her funny twinkling smile again—"that they help, as all the stories you have heard over the sea always tell. You shall see what I can do, and what you must do yourself."
By this time they had reached a side entrance to the house. The door stood open; a small staircase faced them, up which with wonderful quickness, considering her great age, Cousin Felicity sprang, followed by Clodagh, and crossing a landing, opened the door of a room, inviting the girl to enter with her.
It was a pleasant room; the first impression it made on Clodagh was of whiteness—and exquisite neatness. It matched the little old lady to perfection.
"This is where I always am, when I visit these kind people," she said. "No one ever has this room but myself. And," she went on in a low voice as if speaking to herself, "who, if I tried to tell it, would believe for how many generations it has been appropriated to me?"