d, them two must pack to the first
'Asylum' will take 'em in. The sooner the better and this very day the
best of all. 'Twas yourself brought 'em or sent 'em, and 'tis yourself
must do the job. You can knock off work this half-day and get it
settled."

"Oh, but Mary, me cousin, by marriage that is. I hate it. I hate it
worse nor ever was. Sure, it was bad enough touchin' a match to them
neat little clothes o' theirs but forcin' themselves away----Ah! Mary,
mother o' seven, think! What if 'twas one o' your own, now?" wheedled
Tim.

But Mary was not to be moved. Indeed, she dared not be. As Glory had
already learned, Dennis Fogarty was the now useless gardener of the rich
family which lived in the great house on the hill beyond, and to whom
the abused Queen Anne cottage and all the other red outbuildings visible
belonged.

The rich people were very particular to have all things on their estate
kept in perfect order; and though they had no fault to find with Dennis
himself, whenever he was well enough to work, they did find much fault
with his shiftless or careless wife, while the brood of noisy children
was a constant annoyance to them, whenever they occupied Broadacres.

It was for this reason that during the family's stay at the great house,
Mary so seldom allowed her children out of the house; nor had Dennis
ever permitted her to visit the place in person when there was any
chance of her being seen by his employers. He felt that he held his own
position merely by their generosity; nor did he approve of her boarding
the workmen of the near-by railway. Still, he knew that his children must
be fed, and, without the money she earned, how could they be?

Mary's argument, then, against taking into her home two more children,
to make bad matters worse, was a good one, and Timothy could find no
real word to say against it. Yet he was all in sympathy with Glory's
search for the missing seaman, and how could he be the instrument of
shutting her up in any institution, no matter how good, where she could
not continue that search?

Having heard thus much, and recalling even then Posy Jane's saying about
"listeners hearin' no good o' theirselves," Take-a-Stitch quietly rose
and went around the tree till she stood before her troubled friends.

"Why, I thought you was asleep!" cried poor Timothy, rather awkwardly
and very red in the face.

"So I was, part of the time. Part I wasn't and I listened. I shouldn't
ought, I know,