OSCAR.


CHAPTER I.

A KITCHEN SCENE.

Bridget, the Irish servant girl, had finished the house-work for the
day, and sat down to do a little mending with her needle. The fire in
the range, which for hours had sent forth such scorching blasts, was
now burning dim; for it was early in October, and the weather was mild
and pleasant. The floor was swept, and the various articles belonging
in the room were arranged in their proper places, for the night. The
mistress of the kitchen,--for Bridget claimed this as her rank, if not
her title,--was humming a queer medley of tunes known only to herself,
as her clumsy fingers were trying to coax the needle to perform some
dextrous feat that it did not seem inclined to do in her hands. What
she was thinking about, is none of our business; but whatever it was,
her revery was suddenly disturbed, and the good nature that beamed from
her face dispelled, by the noisy clattering of more than one pair of
little boots on the stairs. In a moment, the door opened with a jerk
and a push, and in bounded three boys, with as little display of
manners or propriety as so many savages might exhibit. The oldest
directed his steps to the closet, singing, as he peered round among the
eatables:

"Eggs, cheese, butter, bread,--