It was partitioned into two by a screen; in one portion
was a rough camp bedstead, and in the other two dear little child's
beds, that must once have been Derek's and Sheila's, and one still
smaller, made out of a large packing-case. The eldest of the little
children said:

"That's where Billy sleeps, Susie sleeps here, and I sleeps there; and
our father sleeped in here before he went to prison." Frances Freeland
experienced a shock. To prison! The idea of letting these little things
know such a thing as that! The best face had so clearly not been put on
it that she decided to put it herself.

"Oh, not to prison, dear! Only into a house in the town for a little
while."

It seemed to her quite dreadful that they should know the truth--it was
simply necessary to put it out of their heads. That dear little girl
looked so old already, such a little mother! And, as they stood about
her, she gazed piercingly at their heads. They were quite clean.

The second dear little thing said:

"We like bein' here; we hope Father won't be comin' back from prison
for a long time, so as we can go on stayin' here. Mr. Freeland gives us
apples."

The failure of her attempt to put a nicer idea into their heads
disconcerted Frances Freeland for a moment only. She said:

"Who told you he was in prison?"

Biddy answered slowly: "Nobody didn't tell us; we picked it up."

"Oh, but you should never pick things up! That's not at all nice. You
don't know what harm they may do you."

Billy replied: "We picked up a dead cat yesterday. It didn't scratch a
bit, it didn't."

And Biddy added: "Please, what is prison like?"

Pity seized on Frances Freeland for these little derelicts, whose heads
and pinafores and faces were so clean. She pursed her lips very tight
and said:

"Hold out your hands, all of you."

Three small hands were held out, and three small pairs of gray-blue eyes
looked up at her. From the recesses of her pocket she drew forth her
purse, took from it three shillings, and placed one in the very centre
of each palm. The three small hands closed; two small grave bodies
dipped in little courtesies; the third remained stock-still, but a grin
spread gradually on its face from ear to ear.

"What do you say?" said Frances Freeland.

"Thank you."

"Thank you--what?"

"Thank you, ma'am."

"That's right. Now run away and play a nice game in the orchard."

The three turned immediately and went. A sound of whispering rose
b