youthful spirits and a half-day off often proved irresistible to Maggie's ready tongue.
"So you are liking your new place," I said to her one day, "that's good."
"Yes'm, though it do be a bit out o' the way o' the cyars; we do be havin' a noo butler the week, Thomas be name. The Misthress be's away an' the masther is that partic'lar. Cook, she up an' made a noo kind o' scone fer breakfas' the morn, an' w'en Thomas took them in, says the masther, 'W'at be this, Thomas?' says he, an' says Thomas solemn like, 'Scones, Sir!' an' the masther he up an' throwed them at 'im. An' w'en Thomas telled us about it, 'My goodness,' says I, 'an' w'at d'ye do then?' An' Thomas, 'e says, cool-like, 'I let 'em lay.'"
But it was not through Maggie alone that social life solicited Sheila. "Gentlemen friends" began to present themselves, red-faced, blocky individuals, redolent of scented soap and encased in obviously new and uncomfortable-looking suits.
I found myself in the course of time becoming familiarized with the physiognomy of one in particular, a raw-looking youth whom one might suspect of coming under R. L. S.'s
