re worth a half a cent a
pound if they're worth anything. You can store them in the workshop till
somebody comes along that does want them, and will pay." He turned again
to leave her.

"Just a moment, Octavius." Once more he came back over the threshold.

"Were there any arrivals at The Greenbush to-night?"

"I judged so from the register."

"Did you happen to see a girl there?"

"I saw a child, a little girl, smallish and thin; a priest was with
her."

"A priest?" Mrs. Champney looked nonplussed for a moment and put on her
glasses to cover her surprise. "Did you learn her name, the girl's?"

"It was in the register, Aileen Armagh, from an orphan asylum in New
York."

"Then she's the one," she said in a musing tone but without the least
expression of interest. She removed her glasses. Octavius took a step
backwards. "A moment more, Octavius. I may as well speak of it now; I am
only anticipating by a week or two, at the most, what, in any case, I
should have told you. While Mr. Van Ostend was here, he enlisted my
sympathy in this girl to such an extent that I decided to keep her for a
few months on trial before making any permanent arrangement in regard to
her. I want to judge of her capability to assist Ann and Hannah in the
housework; Hannah is getting on in years. What do you think of her? How
did she impress you? Now that I have decided to give her a trial, you
may speak freely. You know I am guided many times by your judgment in
such matters."

Octavius Buzzby could have ground his teeth in impotent rage at this
speech which, to his accustomed ears, rang false from beginning to end,
yet was cloaked in terms intended to convey a compliment to himself.
But, instead, he smiled the equivocal smile with which many a speech of
like tenor had been greeted, and replied with marked earnestness:

"I wouldn't advise you, Mrs. Champney, to count on much assistance from
a slip of a thing like that. She's small, and don't look more 'n nine,
and--"

"She's over twelve," Mrs. Champney spoke decidedly; "and a girl of
twelve ought to be able to help Ann and Hannah in some of their work."

"Well, I ain't no judge of children as there's never been any of late
years at Champo." He knew his speech was barbed. Mrs. Champney carefully
adjusted her glasses to the thin bridge of her straight white nose. "And
if there had been, I shouldn't want to say what they could do or what
they couldn't at that age. Take Romanzo, now, he'