n the
anxious and austere voice of my mother broke upon our ears. We tried to
stop, but that was not such an easy matter to do, and as we twisted and
writhed, to bring our grape-vine swing to a standstill, there was a slow
rending and breaking which struck terror to our souls.

"Jump!" commanded Norah--"jump! the vine's breaking!" We leaped at the
same moment, she safely. My foot caught in a stout tendril, and I fell
headlong, scraping my forehead on the ground and tearing a triangular
rent in the pretty, new frock. Mother came running forward, and the
expression on her face was far from being the one I liked to see.

"What have you been doing?" she demanded. "I thought you were getting
old enough and sensible enough to take care of yourself!"

I must have been a depressing sight, viewed with the eyes of a careful
mother. Blood and mould mingled on my face, my dress needed a laundress
as badly as a dress could, and my shoes were scratched and muddy.

"And who is this girl?" asked mother. I had become conscious that Norah
was at my feet, wiping off my shoes with her queer little brown frock.

"It's a new friend of mine," gasped I, beginning to see that I must lose
her, and hoping the lump in my throat wouldn't get any bigger than it
was.

"What is her name?" asked mother. I had no time to answer. The girl did
that.

"I'm Norah Madigan," she said. Her tone was respectful, and, maybe, sad.
At any rate, it had a curious sound.

"Norah Mad-i-gan?" asked mother doubtfully, stringing out the word.

"Yessum," said a low voice. "Goodbye, mum."

"Oh, Norah!" cried I, a strange pain stabbing my heart. "Come to see
me--"

But my mother's voice broke in, firm and kind.

"Good-bye, Norah," said she.

I saw Norah turn and run up among the trees, almost as swiftly and
silently as a hare. Once, she turned to look back. I was watching, and
caught the chance to wave my hand to her.

"Come!" commanded mother, and we went back to where father was sitting.

"What do you think!" said mother. "I found the child playing with one of
the Bad Madigans. Isn't she a sight!"

The lump in my throat swelled to a terrible size; something buzzed in my
ears, and I heard some one weeping. For a second or two I didn't realise
that it was myself.

"Well, never mind, dear," said mother's voice soothingly. "The frock
will wash, and the tear will mend, and the shoes will black. Yes, and
the scratches will heal."

"It isn't that," I sobbed