Och, the good days! the good days!"
"They were good when Theobald was here," I said. "He made enough noise,
Maureen; didn't he? You used to scold then because he made so much."
"I always thought more of a boy than a girl," she answered. "You're
bonny enough, Miss Bawn, but you're not to be compared with Master
Theobald, let alone them I nursed at my breast--Master Luke and your
mother and your Aunt Eleanor."
"Mary Cashel thinks the world of me," I said, with enjoyment. Mary
Cashel is my foster-mother, and lives at the head of the Glen.
"She's a poor, foolish, talkative creature," Maureen said. "If her
Ladyship had listened to me she'd never have had Mary Cashel in the
house."
Just then the setting sun glinted on the windows of Brosna, the great
house that neighbours ours, which belongs to the Cardews, and has been
empty, as its owner, Anthony Cardew, has been away from it many years.
The sun was going down in a great glory, and window after window in the
long house-front took fire and flamed like a torch.
"You would think," said I, "that they were lighting fires over there
against Captain Cardew's return."
Maureen rose from her place and peered curiously in the direction of my
gaze.
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