“Seven o’clock!” exclaimed father, throwing his hat (with a very dirty puggaree on it) upon the drawing-room sofa. “Isn’t that confounded boy back yet?” Mother looked up from a low chair with her gentle face of reproof. She had a great objection to strong language, and, to do him justice, father seldom used it; but he was hot and tired, poor man, after drafting sheep all day in a north wind, and, moreover, the boy in question had gone to post for the English letters, and was half an hour beyond his usual time for returning. “He started late,” said mother. “Pat Malony wanted him to help to put out a fire in the lake paddock. Go and change your dress, my dear, and we’ll have dinner. I think t…
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