"Very happy." I answered the appeal in her dear voice and eyes. And to
be sure I was happy, if it were not for the loneliness and the ghosts at
night.

"She is always reading," my godmother went on. "Young girls should not
be always reading. It bends their backs and dims their eyes and makes
them forget their walks and rides. I'll tell you what, Lady St. Leger,
you had better let Bawn come and learn butter-making with me at the
Creamery. I am going to take a course of lessons and then I can make my
own butter. I think Margaret Dwyer is getting past her work. Joan says
the butter is rancid, and for once I believe Joan has cause. Every lady
ought to at least superintend her own dairy."

"I used to visit mine often," said my grandmother, "before Lord St.
Leger needed so much of my time. It was a pretty place, with white walls
and a fountain bubbling. It is a long time since I have visited it."

"Let Bawn do it. I went to visit Lady Ardaragh the other day, and she
gave me tea in her dairy. It is coming into fashion to be housekeepers
and dairymaids once more."

"Would you like to go to the Creamery, Bawn?" asked my grandmother.

"I should love to," said I. "And to have a herd of little Kerries like
Lady Ardaragh. The dairy is as pretty as ever, but it wants washing, and
the fountain is broken. I believe Michael Friely could mend it."

My grandfather made no objection when he heard of the plan, only saying
something with a laugh about fine ladies liking to play dairymaids. So