I've niver given him so much as a cup o' tay in this kitchen. Not wan cup o' tay, mind ye!"
We shook our heads commiseratingly. Angel flicked his last caraway seed at her—
"Well," he said, with a wink, "you gave him something better than tea—I saw you!"
"Aw, well, my dear," replied Mary Ellen, without smiling, "a man that do be boardin' all the time likes a little attintion sometimes—an' a taste o' home cookin'. Now hark to my plan. I mane to have a little feast of oyster stew, an' cake, an' coffee, an' the like this very night, fer Mr. Watlin an' me, an' yersilves. You kin have yours in the dining-room like little gintlemen, an' him an' me'll ate in the kitchen here. Thin, after the supper, ye kin come out an' hear Mr. Watlin play on the fiddle. He plays somethin' grand, havin' larned off the best masters. It'll be a rale treat fer ye! The missus 'll niver be the wiser, an' we'll all git a taste o' freedom, d' ye see?"
We were unanimous in our approval, The Seraph expressing his by a somersault.
"But," said Angel, "there's just one thing, Mary Ellen; if there's going to be a party you and Mr. Watlin have got to have yours in the dining-room the same as us. It'll be ever so much jollier, and more like a real party."
"Thrue fer ye, Master Angel!" cried Mary Ellen heartily, "sure, there's noan o' the stiff-neck
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