girls--the Wild Irish Girls, I mean--any longer at the quarry,
for it's getting noised abroad in the school, and there are those who'd
think very little of telling on us; and then we might all be expelled,
for it's contrary to the rules of the governors that there should be
anything underhand or anything of that sort in the place. So it is this
way: we have got into trouble, we Wild Irish Girls, and dear Miss
Kathleen is determined that, come what will, the society must not
suffer; and she thinks you could help. And if you help in any sort of
fashion, why, she'll take precious good care that you get into one of
those little almshouses. She said I was to see you to-day, and I was to
take her back the answer. And now, will you help or will you not?"

"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Church.

When she had uttered these words she sank back in her chair. Her
knitting was forgotten; her old face looked pale with anxiety.

"Have a cup of tea; it will help you to think more than anything," said
Susy, and in a brisk and businesslike fashion she dived into the
cupboard, took out the cups and saucers, a little box of biscuits, a
tiny jug of milk, a caddy of tea, and proceeded to fill the little
teapot. By-and-by tea was ready, and Susy brought a cup to the old lady.

"There, now," she said. "You see what it means to have a nice little
girl like me to wait on you. You'd have taken an hour hobbling round all
by yourself. Now what will you do?"

"What shall I do?" said Mrs. Church. "Look round, Susan Hopkins, and ask
me what I am to do! How many of those forty can be squeezed into this
room?"

"Let me think," said Susy.

She looked round the room, which was really not more than twelve feet
square.

"We couldn't get many in here," she said. "Four might stand against the
wall there, and four there, and so on, but that wouldn't go far when
there are forty. We must have the backyard."

"What! and upset the pig?" said Mrs. Church.

"Oh, Aunt Church, you really can't think of Brownie at a moment like
this! They must all congregate in the yard, and you shall look on. Oh,
you'll enjoy it fine! But you ought to have tea for Miss O'Hara and Miss
Katie O'Flynn; you really ought. Think, Aunt Church; it is quite worth
while when you have an almshouse in view; and you know that for all the
rest of your life you are to have a house rent-free, coal and light, and
six shillings a week."

"It's worth an effort," said Mrs. Church; "it is that.