"Miss Mona, come in; the tay will be cold, an' the rashers all spoiled, an' the masther's callin' for ye.",
"Surely," thinks Mona to herself, "this strange young man is not altogether bad. He has his divine touches as well as another.",
"I am afraid you must class me with the ignorant," says Mona, shaking her pretty head. "I know nothing at all about thistles, except that donkeys love them!".
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