Mrs. O'Shanaghgan surveyed her daughter critically.

"Sit down again, Nora," she said. "What is the matter with you? You
know I don't allow these manners at table."

"But it is the post, mammy," said the girl.

"Well, my dear, if you will be patient, Margaret will bring the post
in."

Nora sat down again, trembling. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan gave her a cold
stare, and helped herself languidly to a small snippet of leathery
toast.

"Our cook gets worse and worse," she said as she broke it. "Dear,
dear! I think I must make a change. I have heard of an excellent
cook just about to leave some people of the name of Wilson in the
town. They are English people, which accounts for their having a
good servant."

At that moment the redoubtable Pegeen did thrust in her head,
holding the post-bag at arm's length away from her.

"Here's the post, Miss Nora," she said; "maybe you'll fetch it,
miss. I'm a bit dirty."

Nora could not restrain herself another moment. She rushed across the
room, seized the bag, and laid it by her father's side. As a rule,
the post-bag was quickly opened, and its small contents dispersed.
These consisted of the local paper for the Squire, which was always