her second oyster-patty. "From your description it seems to be a
sort of death in life, that town of Merrifield."

"I have to make my own diversions, aunty, and they are sprightly and
entertaining enough. Don't you remember when I told you to have all
those little hearts made for me?"

"To be sure, dear--the most extraordinary idea I ever heard in my life.
Only that I never cross you, Kathleen, I'd have written to know the
meaning of it."

"It doesn't matter about you knowing."

Here Kathleen briefly and in graphic language described the Society of
the Wild Irish Girls.

"It is the one thing that keeps me alive," she said. "However, I'm
guessing they are going to make a fuss about it in the school."

"And what will you do then, core of my heart?"

"Stick to them, of course, aunty. You don't suppose I'd begin a thing
and then drop it?"

"No; that wouldn't be at all like you, you young rebel.".

Kathleen laughed.

"I am all in a puzzle," she said, "to know where to hold the next
meeting, for there is no doubt that some of the girls who hate us
because they weren't asked to join spied last time; so I want the
society to meet the night after next in a new place."

"And I'll tell you what I've been thinking," said Aunt Katie; "that I'll
be present, and bring a sparkle of old Ireland to help the whole affair.
So you'll have to reckon with me on the occasion of the next meeting."

Kathleen sat very still, her face thoughtful.

"Nothing will induce me to give them up," she said, or to betray any
girl of my society. Oh, aunty, there's such a funny old woman! I met her
last Sunday. She's a certain Mrs. Church, and she lives in a cottage
about four miles from Merrifield. We could have our meetings there--I
know we could--and she'd never tell. Nobody would guess. She is the
great-aunt of one of the members of the society, Susy Hopkins, a nice
little girl, a tradesman's daughter."

"Oh, dear me, Kathleen! You don't mean to say you demean yourself by
associating with tradesmen's daughters?"

"I do so, aunty; and I find them very much nicer than the stuck-up girls
who think no end of themselves."

"Well, well," said Miss O'Flynn, "whatever you are, you are a lady born
and bred, and nothing can lower that sort--nothing nor nobody. You must
make your own plans and let me know."

"I am sure I can manage the old lady, and I will tell you why. She wants
to join our alms-women."

"What?"

"You know what a snug time