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She turned to him now and gave him one of her rare smiles as she said, Ànd you, Daniel Stewart, are very young.Ànd then he gave the lie to her words and she recognised this when, querulously, he said,

`But time will take care of that, won't it?`

`Come on,` she said now; Ì'm freezing.`

`The house is warm. There's a fire in the drawing-room, and in the dining-room, even in the study and billiard-room. And you know what? I found a hot brick in my bed to air it, likely. It was wrapped in flannel. That was nice of her, wasn't it?`

Òh, wonderful!Às they entered the hall Moira was approaching from the kitchen. She had a large bibbed white apron over her dress and her whole appearance was welcoming, as was her voice when she greeted Pattie, Àre you frozen, dear? There's some hot broth in the kitchen. Come away in and get thawed.`

Ì'll go and wash my hands first.`

Daniel noted that Pattie's voice was quiet and civil; and when she turned away, Moira said to Daniel,

`You've been out without a coat on, laddie. Do you want to catch your death?`

Ì'm warm enough, Moira,` he said; `but I could do with some of that broth.`

`This way, sir, at your service.` She bowed and swept her arm in the direction of the kitchen. And he, taking her cue, marched with head up towards the door, her laughter following him ...

Later that evening, after his father had departed the house in high spirits for a meeting in Newcastle, Moira came into the study where he and Pattie were sitting reading, and addressing Pattie, she said,

`Would you like to come into the kitchen, dear, and help me decorate this cake; or better still, give me an idea of what should go on the top of it. I've always been a dab hand at baking cakes but, as for titivating the tops of them, a horse could make a better job of it with his hooves.`

Daniel had got up from the rug, and he looked at Pattie as she answered, `Well, you can put me in the same class as the horse,àt which Moira put her head back and 53 let out a bellow of a laugh, the while Daniel nodded quickly towards Pattie, the motion speaking clearer than his words when he said, `But you've always got bright ideas.`

`She has that. Come on then.` Moira turned away as if Pattie had already accepted her invitation.

When Pattie slowly rose from her chair Daniel gave her a push in the back, and although she turned her head sharply towards him she said nothing.

The kitchen was warm and full of the smells of spice, and there in the middle of the long wooden table was a large fruit loaf, and Maggie Ann, pointing to it, cried by way of greeting, `Did you ever see anything so good to look at as that? She's a dab hand, is herself, at the cakes.`

`Shut up! will you?` Moira now turned to Pattie, saying, `Well, what do you think, Pattie?`

During the process of decorating the cake Daniel felt that Moira's heavy-handedness now and again was very well put on, and his liking for her grew. And when the cake was decorated with as much trimming as it could hold it was Maggie Ann who said, `Now wouldn't a cup of tea and a current bun go down nice? Sit yourselves down there around the fire. Oh, it's like home when folks are in the kitchen. I miss Rosie, you know, now she leaves at six o'clock. But as herself said, "Ten hours is enough for anybody to work". And she's got her own man and house to see to. We get on fine now, you know, Rosie and me. Oh aye, we do.`

Daniel was pleased Pattie made no objection to sitting round the fire, because he himself wanted to stay in the kitchen with these two warm women. And when they were settled, each with a cup of tea in their hand and with a plate of buns set on a stool between them, Pattie's question, coming out of the blue, seemed to startle them for a moment, for she said, Ìs it true that you lived in a castle in Ireland?Ànd then there was some consternation when Maggie Ann answered, Àye, it is,` while at the same time Moira said, `Not really.`

`Well, it was, it was--`

Maggie Ann's voice was cut off by Moira saying, in an unusually harsh tone, `Be quiet! Maggie Ann. For once in your 55 life see things as they really are, or really were.Ànd now turning to Pattie, she said, Ìt wasn't really a castle. It was a house, but had the name of castle.

Castlemere it was called, and it could deceive people into thinking it was a castle because the man who had built it early in the century had big ideas. He was a rich Protestant. Oh my! Oh my!` She put her hand over her eyes, but she didn't laugh now. Then looking at Pattie again, she said, `Well, you know what I mean. It was such of those that had the large properties and land.`

Ànd still have.`

Moira cast a baneful glance at Maggie Ann before going on, Ìt should happen that my grandfather was a bailiff to a Mr Jardine. But when the troubles arose in the great famine the family went hurriedly back to England, and they took most of their stuff with them, leaving just curtains here and there and a few floor coverings. But what they did was to ask my grandfather to take over the house until they came back; that is, to move his family into it so it wouldn't be rifled and the place torn to bits, especially the beautiful woodwork

which would have been used for fuel. Well, years went on and, as in many parts of the country, the tenant became a sort of part owner of the land. Such was the law that in those days the tenant could even sell his leasehold without making a new contract with the owner of the place. Things were topsy-turvy, like the landlord having the rent yet not owning the place. Oh`-- she shook her head--ìt was a funny business. But anyway, it allowed my grandfather to bring up his family in that house. And then my father took over, by which time a lot of the land had been sold, and what is left now gives but a scratch living, if you know what I mean. As for the house, it would take a fortune to put that in order, because there's not a bit of the roof whole. Because owners have no money to spend on timber and new slates there's hardly a room in the house now that doesn't let water in.` Now her laughter broke her flow as she ended, Ìt's true what I'm telling you. Everybody that sleeps in that house has a bucket or basin or chamber pot to catch the drips; often not only one of these appliances, but two or three.`

Daniel now laughed with Moira and Maggie Ann, but Pattie's face remained impassive as she said, `Then if it's 57 so bad, why do the family stay there?`

Òh, dear God in heaven! listen to her.` Maggie Ann was flapping her hand towards Pattie now. `Where d'you think the family would go, child? And it's a fine big brick-built house. And if anybody's been turned out to the road from their cottage or shanty, himself takes them in until they pull themselves together and go off to the Americas or come to England here. But God knows why they want to come--`

`Maggie Ann!`

`Yes ... Yes ... Miss ... Moira.` The words were spaced out and the large head bobbed. Then, with her usual impulsive movement, she swivelled round on the stool, saying, `Tell them that piece of poetry you wrote about the rain coming through the whole place. It's a funny one.` Maggie Ann was nodding now to Daniel, and she went on, `She makes up all these. Split your sides sometimes. Then when the mood's on her she makes up ones that have you cryin'. Oh begod! she has a funny mind, has our Miss Moira.`

`Will you shut your mouth, Maggie Ann, or

you'll be left on your own for the rest of the night.`

`Do you really make up poetry, Moira?àsked Pattie.

`Not poetry, dear, just silly rhymes.`

`Go on, Miss Moira, do that one that you did when you were but a lass, an' you called it, "When I was Young". Go on.`

When Moira made no response Daniel said politely, `Do say it, Moira. I'd like to hear it, and Pattie would too. Wouldn't you, Pattie?` Pattie glanced at him; then, turning to her stepmother, she paused for a moment before she said simply, `Yes.Àt this Moira laughed, then said, `Well, here goes! You've asked for it;ànd at this she struck a pose that gave her a child-like appearance, and began:

`We lived in a house at the top of the hill: There wasn't much roof on that old house, but still We all had buckets when the rain poured through; Mine was an old one but my father's was new. Mama carried hers on the top of her head, It was very awkward when she was in bed; The handle would keep dangling under her chin,

Until it was fastened with a safety pin. 59 I always put mine on top of my chest, To catch all the big drops, I thought it was

best; And when it was full it overflowed And tumbled down the stairs and into the road. Papa's bucket was always kept in the shed; For it's the best place for a bucket, he said, Not stuck on top of your head or on your chest; Fancy being caught like that while in your vest.`

Daniel laughed, Maggie Ann laughed, and even Pattie managed a smile. And now she asked, `Did it really pour through the roof in every room?`

`Yes,` Moira nodded at her, ìn every bedroom, that is, and into the kitchen quarters too, because that part was stuck on the end of the house and was just a single storey.`

Ìt must have been very uncomfortable.`

Ìt was,` said Moira; `but it was a diversion and it afforded a topic of conversation.` She wasn't smiling now as she spoke, and consequently had Pattie's whole attention and, apparently for the first time, her interest, for the girl

asked her, `What did you do with your time? Did you work on the farm?`

Òh, it was no farm.` Moira was about to go on when Maggie Ann put in, `'Twas that. 'Twas a farm: we had a cow that gave good milk; and a litter of pigs every year, and ducks, and hens. And there was fish in the brook.`

Ìt still wasn't a farm.` Moira's voice was flat.

`Well, how did you live? How did you make money?`

`My brothers married and moved into the town where they worked. So there were only my parents and myself and Maggie Ann here. So we lived well, but plainly.`

Ì thought you were rich.Às Daniel exclaimed, `Pattie!` Moira said, Òh, it's all right, it's all right, it was a straight question. And now, Pattie, I'll give you a straight answer. We aren't rich but we're expecting to be; at least, if not rich, then pretty warm.`

Ìt's Aunt Mattie that has the money.Ìt was Maggie Ann butting in again. `You saw her at the weddin'.

She's himself's aunt, Mr

Conelly that is, and she married a very warm 61 man in Dublin, where she lives in a nice house, a very nice house.` She nodded now. Ànd she has neither kith nor kin except Miss Moira's father. But Miss Moira here has always been her favourite and it has been an understood thing she'll come into her fortune. It's in a will, so I understand. Isn't that so, Miss Moira?`

Às usual you talk too much. But yes, that is the gist of how things are.`

`She looked very old, the aunt,` said Pattie.

Moira smiled widely now, saying, `Yes, Pattie, she is very old, but I would hope that she still has a number of years spared to her yet, for she is a very kind and warm person.`

Ìf she is so wealthy, why didn't she buy you a wedding present?`

`Well`--Moira chuckled now--`she didn't buy me a wedding present but she gave me one; knowing what would help most, she gave me fifty pounds.`

Pattie's eyebrows moved up slightly as

she said, `That is a lot of money.`

`Well, it isn't exactly hen corn.`

`How much do you think you'll get when she dies?Às Moira and Maggie Ann fell together laughing, Daniel exclaimed loudly, `Pattie! you shouldn't. Really!`

Òh--` Moira was now wiping the tears of laughter away from her cheeks with her fingers as she said,

`You're going to be the practical one, I can see. My dear, I couldn't give you an answer to that. I'll just have to wait and see; but as I said, I hope it isn't for a long while ...Àlthough Daniel did not remember how that evening finished, he only knew that the conversation in the kitchen was what remained with him as a memory of that Christmas, even more so than the party that was held on Christmas night, when Moira made everyone laugh. And he realised that all the Farringdons and some of the Talbots liked her. And also it was the first time he became aware of the plainness of Janie Farringdon and the beauty of Frances Talbot.

It seemed to Daniel that each year he came home for the Easter holidays it was to be greeted by a Moira whose belly had become prominent during the intervening months; and then at some time during the summer holidays to be horrified by her cries as she was giving birth to yet another child. He never could get used to those cries. Strangely, however, they didn't seem to affect his father, who was usually busy about the farm or, more often, away on business in Fellburn or Newcastle. Then, in 1887, matters occurred that could have predicted the pattern of his life ahead.

It was in this year that Pattie left home to be married; it was in this year too that for the first time his father struck him and he struck him back; and that Moira's seventh baby was born dead. It was also during these twelve months that Pattie, now at the age of twenty, and a more fearless young woman than ever, made a discovery that gave evidence as to why their mother had been such a cool and apparently unemotional lady. It was during this year also he discovered that he would never get to a university, and also that he loved Frances Talbot and was determined to marry her some day ...

With further help from Miss Brooker, two years previously Pattie had been awarded a full teaching post, and during this period she had met a young man named John Watson, a teacher in Fellburn, and a very enlightened one, for he had found a way into her heart by being a defender of women's rights, which for the time was a very brave attitude to take. It was on this blustery day in early April that Pattie came through the front door to see Moira's six-year-old son Patrick sliding down the banister while his four-year-old sister Margaret stood screaming with glee at the foot of the stairs. But when the boy, dropping from the pillar, fell on top of her, her glee turned to tears until a quiet voice to the side of them said, `Here's Auntie Pattie.`

Pattie approached the five-year-old Sean, who appeared to be the odd one out in Moira's brood, for he was as fair as the others were dark, and he was quiet while the rest of them were rowdy. His quietness was put down to his 65 being the survivor of twins, the other having died at birth, and as Maggie Ann was wont to say, `He had been left with two brains in his head, which has made him fey. And if he had been across the water it would have been he who danced at night in the woodland with the wee folk.`