Penelope's Irish Experiences by Kate Douglas Wiggin

'Why the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee, While alone with your cup, Like a hermit you sup, Och hone, Widow Machree. ' Samuel Lover.

Francesca and I were gloomy enough, as we drove along facing each other in Ballyfuchsia's one 'inside-car' -- a strange and fearsome vehicle, partaking of the nature of a broken-down omnibus, a hearse, and an overgrown black beetle. It holds four, or at a squeeze six, the seats being placed from stem to stern lengthwise, and the balance being so delicate that the passengers, when going uphill, are shaken into a heap at the door, which is represented by a ragged leather flap. I have often seen it strew the hard highroad with passengers, as it jolts up the steep incline that leads to Ardnagreena, and the 'fares' who succeed in staying in always sit in one another's laps a good part of the way -- a method pleasing only to relatives or intimate friends. Francesca and I agreed to tell the real reason of Salemina's absence. "It is Ireland's fault, and I will not have America blamed for it," she insisted; "but it is so embarrassing to be going to the dinner ourselves, and leaving behind the most important personage. Think of Dr. La Touche's disappointment, think of Salemina's; and they'll never understand why she couldn't have come in a dressing jacket. I shall advise her to discharge Benella after this episode, for no one can tell the effect it may have upon all our future lives, even those of the doctor's two poor motherless children."