"
"I wish to speak to him," said La Fleur, and with a very slight nod of
the head she left the kitchen by the door that led into the grounds.
Looking after her, Molly exclaimed,--
"Drat you, for a stuck-up, cross-grained, meddlin', bumble-bee-backed
old hag of a soup-slopper; to come stickin' yer big nose into other
people's kitchens! If there was a rale misthress to the house instead
of the little gal upstairs, you'd be rowled down the front steps afore
you'd been let come into my kitchen." And with this she returned to
her potatoes.
La Fleur stopped at the woodpile, as if in passing she had happened to
notice a good man splitting logs. In her blandest voice she accosted Mike
and bade him good-day.
"I think you must be Michael," she said. "The cook has been speaking of
you to me. My name is La Fleur."
Mike, who had struck his axe into a log, touched his flattened hat.
"Yes, mum," he said; "Mr. Griffing has been tellin' me that. Are you
lookin' for any of the folks?"
"Oh no, no," said La Fleur; "I am just walking about to see a little of
this beautiful place.
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