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"Nicholas, come here," says Doatie, anxiously, from out the shadow in which she is sitting, somewhat away from the rest. And Nicholas, going to her finds comfort and grows calm again beneath the touch of the slim little fingers she slips into his beneath the cover of the friendly darkness, "I don't see why we shouldn't launch out into reckless extravagance now our time threatens to be so short," says Jack, moodily. "Let's us entertain our neighbors right royally before the end comes. Why not wind up like the pantomimes, with showers of gold and rockets and the gladsome noise of ye festive cracker?","I think you had better come home," says Geoffrey, deeply angered with her. "You must not stay here catching cold.",She excuses her unwonted drowsiness with a little laugh, natural and friendly, and begs them "not to betray her." Clothed in all this sweetness she drops a word or two meant to crush Mona; but that hapless young woman hears her not, being bent on explaining to Mrs. Carson that, as a rule, the Irish peasantry do not go about dressed only in glass beads, like the gay and festive Zulus, and that petticoats and breeches are not utterly unknown.,The inference is full of saddest meaning. Even Geoffrey feels the tears rise unbidden to his eyes.,"She doesn't understand," puts in Violet, quickly. "Mona, are you going to see everybody that may choose to call upon you, good, bad, and indifferent, from this till you die?","I had, really. There was one fellow, a perfect giant,—Terry O'Flynn was his name,—and he and I were awful chums. We used to go shooting together every day, and got on capitally. He was a tremendously big fellow, could put me in his pocket, you know, and forget I was there until I reminded him. He was a farmer's son, and a very respectable sort of man. I gave him my watch when I was coming away, and he was quite pleased. They don't have much watches, by the by, the lower classes, do they.","Yes; pigs!" says Mona, sweetly.,"Waiting—for what? Is it to shoot him?" asks the girl, breathlessly.,"Loved nothing better than a—oh, how you must have misunderstood me!" says Rodney, with mournful earnestness, liberally sprinkled with reproach.,"And what color becomes you? Blue? that would suit your eyes, and it was blue you used to wear last month.",Silence. Mona taps the mound beside her with impatient fingers, her mind being evidently great with thought.,COLD MAKER'S MEDICINE.