"Ah, Misther Allen—all ye'er clothes will be spiled, kickin' 'round like this. Shall I fold 'em up an' put 'em in th' thrunks fer ye, sor?"
Riley was in his element again, and Allen grasped at the old man's offer with an eagerness not assumed.
"That's just the thing," he said. "You pack the trunk, Riley, while Lady
Pat and I sit on the window-seat and have a little visit."
"Here are my things, too, Riley." Patricia handed the old man her satchel and book. "Perhaps you'd better pack those on top."
"Why should I pack thim in Misther Allen's thrunk?" he demanded.
"Because we're going away to be married," she announced, grandly. "You are the first one in the family to know it, and you mustn't tell."
Riley started to speak, but a signal from Allen silenced him; so he continued his work, bringing order out of chaos so quickly that he won instant admiration.
"Now, look here, Lady Pat," said Allen, kindly, as the child sat on her heels in front of him on the window-seat, "we must talk this matter over very carefully."
"Yes, Sir Launcelot," Patricia assented, expectantly.
"In the first place, I have made your father very angry with me."