The old woman had dropped into a chair,
panting with fatigue.

"It's no shame for ye," she gasped, " that ye
don't know me, seein' that ye never set eyes on
me before; but I'm wan o' the McCambridges,
from beyont Lough Neagh, an' I've walked
every foot o' the road to see you an' yours."

"Why, you don't mane to say that?" cried
Jamie, his pale face lighting up. " You don't
mane to say you're Shaun McCambridge's sisther
Penny, own cousin to my father's second wife,
that was to have stood for our Ailsie at her
christenin', only she took a pain in her heel and
couldn't stir from home? Faith, an' I might
have knowed you by the fine hook o' your nose,
always an' ever the sign o' the rale ould blood.
Throth that same blood's thicker nor wather.
Mary machree, it's Penny McCambridge, from
Lough Neagh side!"

Mary, the wife, now lifted her voice in
welcome.

"Good luck to you, cousin Penny," she said.
"The sight o' wan o' your folks is the cure for
sore eyes. Come over an' give us the shake o'
your han', for not a stir can I stir this year
past with the pains, no more nor Jamie there
that's down on his back since May. Och, it's
the poor do-less pair we'd be only for our
Ailsie, that's han's an' feet to us both, an' keeps
things together out an' in."

A great hand-shaking followed this speech,
and then the visitor began to inquire for Ailsie,
her god-daughter that was to have been, only
for the unfortunate pain in the heel.

"Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the father;
"she'll be in from the fair by-an'-by, an' then
if ye don't give her the degree for han'somest
girl and the best manager that ever stepped about
a house, I'll give ye lave to go back to Lough
Neagh an' spend the rest o' your days sarchin'
for her aiquals."

"Whisht, Jamie," said the mother; " self
praise is no praise, no more is praise o' yer own
flesh an' blood. All the same, I wisht Ailsie
was in to make cousin Penny the cup o' tay
afther her thravels. She was to bring a grain
o' the best green from Misther McShane's, in
Portrush, as well as all the news from Castle
Craigie, an' of the doin's of ould Lady Betty
MacQuillan, more power to her!"

"Is that the ould lady that's come home from
Ingia?" asked she who was called Penny
McCambridge.

"Ay, ay," said the wife of Jamie, eagerly.
"Ye've passed through Portrush, an' ye'll
maybe have the foreway of Ailsie with the news.
What are they saying in the town?"

"Well, ye see," said Penny, " bein' a
sthranger, and spakin' to few, I heard but little.
But they do say that her husband was the last
of the MacQuillans of Castle Craigie, an' that as
she has ne'er a child of her own, all the
MacQuillans in the counthry are claimin' kin
with her, an' fightin' among them about which
'll be her heir."

"An' is that all ye know, Penny dear?" said
Mary. "Why, I have more nor that mysel'.
Sure she's written round an' round to every
MacQuillan o' them all, biddin' them to a grand
house-warmin' on Wensday come eight days,
when she'll settle it all, an' name who's to come
afther her. An' though she's in London now,
she'll be at Castle Craigie afore then to resave
them. An' sich a resavin' as that'll be! Sich
fixin' an' furbishin' as there is at the ould castle.
They say there never was the likes o' it seen
since the day Sir Archie MacQuillan brought
home his fairy bride, an' then it wasn't painters
an' bricklayers, but the 'good people' themselves
that laid han's on the rooms."

"She must be a queer sort of a body," said
Penny. "But I hope, Jamie, that you, as honest
a man, an' as good a MacQuillan as ever a wan
among them, I hope you haven't been shy of
sendin' in your claim."

"Och, Penny, if you'd only put that much
spunk into him!" cried Mary, with energy
"it's what I'm sayin' to him mornin' noon an'
night, an' it's no more to him than the crickets
chirpin'."

"Stop your grumblin', Mary," said the husband,
"there's richer nor us, and there's poorer,
but we're not so mane yet as to go cravin' for what
we're not likely to get. It's not to MacQuillans
like us that Lady Betty has sent her invite."

"An' more shame for her!" cried Mary,
waxing wroth. " Listen to me, cousin Penny.
When Lady Betty's husband, Sir Dillon
MacQuillan that's dead an' gone, was nothing but
plain Dillon, an' the youngest of seven sons,
he went off an' married wan or'nary-faced, low-
born lass, called Betty O'Flanigan, an' brought
her all the way from county Wexford to Castle
Craigie here, thinkin' he had nothin' to do in
the world but ring the gate bell, an' walk in
with his wife. It was Christmas-time, an' hard
weather, an' sich feastin' an' visitin' goin' on at
the castle, when all at wanst the news o' the
marriage come down like a clap on the family.
It took six men to hold ould Sir Patrick, he was
in that mad a rage, an' you may guess it was
little welcome poor Betty got when Dillon
brought her to the door. The two o' them had just
to turn back the way they come, an' it beginnin*
to snow, when Jamie there, that was then a lad
of fifteen, he was standin' out by his mother's
door, an' he spied them comin' down the road.
Betty had on a fine gown, but she looked very
lonesome, poor body, an' Jamie knowin' what
had happened, he up an' he says:

"'Mrs. MacQuillan,' says he, 'it's comin'
on a storrm, an' it'll be hard on you goin'
further the night,' says he. 'And if you'll be
so good as to step inside,' says he, ' it's my
mother 'll be glad to see you.'

"Poor Betty was glad to hear the word, an'
in she went, an' stay there she did for two
weeks, till her husband got their passage taken
out to Ingia. An' when she was goin' away,
an' biddin' good-by, she says to Jamie, she
says, 'Jamie, my boy, if ever Betty MacQuillan
comes home from Ingia a rich woman, she'll find
out you an' yours if you're above the arth, an'
mind you, she'll pay you back your good turn!'