wisht the missus'd fergit to come home an' I could take a day off—but there's no such luck for Mary Ellen!"
She made a few more passes with her broom and then sighed.
"I think I'll soon be lavin' this place," she said.
A vision of the house without the cheering presence of Mary Ellen rose blackly before us. We crowded round her.
"Now, see here," said Angel masterfully, putting his arms about her stout waist. "You know perfectly well that father's coming back from South America soon to make a home for us, and that you are to come and be our cook, and make apple-dumplings, and have all the followers you like."
Now Angel knew whereof he spoke, for Mary Ellen's "followers" were a bone of contention between her and her mistress.
"Aw, Master Angel," she expostulated, "What a tongue ye have in yer head to be sure! Followers, is it? Sure, they're the bane o' me life! Now git out av the way o' the dust, all of yez, or I'll put a tin ear on ye!" And she began to swing her broom vigorously.
We ran to the window and looked out but no sooner had we looked out than we whistled with astonishment at what we saw.
[19]
